


Ricochet

by cali-chan (girls_are_weird)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 177,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girls_are_weird/pseuds/cali-chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Primrose Everdeen." This can't be happening, Katniss thought. She desperately pushed through the crowd. I volunteer!, she wanted to scream. I volunteer as tribute! But she couldn't, because she wasn't eligible for the reaping anymore. There was nothing she could do. Peeta/Katniss and other pairings, AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Katniss: Trading Afternoons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 1: Trading afternoons_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins.
> 
>  **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Katniss adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder as she walked away from the Hob. Normally her satchel would be much lighter after trading in the Seam, but that morning had been good for hunting. Probably because summer was kicking in, she figured. She had been able to find some ripe berries already, so that made her loot even better.

She sold a baggie of black raspberries to Peacekeeper Mendel-- not without going through the mandatory "...And young lady, I hope you've learned your lesson and will not be going out to the woods again. It's illegal, you know, but oh, we wouldn't want these to go to waste..." routine, of course. Mendel liked to fancy himself the strong arm of the law, and liked to at least pretend he was doing his job whenever she tried to sell him something, but eventually he'd just hand her some coins and walk off with the bag of berries. Katniss humored him as long as he paid fair price for the fruit. She also had a small bag of fresh strawberries, but she was saving those for the Mayor's family.

She did well with game, too. She caught a raccoon, which she traded with Greasy Sae. The older woman was also interested in a squirrel, but Katniss knew she'd get a better deal for it in Town. She had a rabbit she'd sell to Rooba, the butcher, along with a rare treat: a grouse, which had wandered into one of her snares. All in all, she was pretty sure she'd managed enough just that day, that she wouldn't have to worry about the rest of the week.

If she had to be honest, she hadn't felt that anxiety about food and necessities in quite a while. Not since their mother had killed herself. Prim would be appalled if she knew she was thinking this way, but it was a lot easier to put food on the table when it was just the two of them.

It happened a few years back, a few weeks after her eighteenth birthday. Ever since their father died in a mine explosion when Katniss was just eleven, her mother had fallen into a deep depression. Her work as a healer was inconstant, and most of the time she could barely help with things like buying groceries or mending torn clothing. When you looked into her eyes you could see: it was like she had died herself.

From that day on Katniss became, for all intents and purposes, the head of the family, and carried the burden of providing them with sustenance and organizing most basic household chores. Their mother was never the same. Prim didn't know how to help her, and Katniss simply couldn't afford one moment for sentimentality. It didn't help that she resented her mother for giving up when she still had two daughters she was responsible for, forcing her eldest to grow up too fast and become a parent while she wallowed in her grief. It shouldn't be the teenage daughter taking care of the mother. It was wrong.

Even so, she was her mother and while Katniss never wanted to be like her, she wasn't ready to lose her, either. She did it one spring morning, while the girls were in school. As the daughter of the Apothecary, she had a wide knowledge of herbs, including those that were poisonous. Their neighbors would later report to Katniss they'd seen her mother walking out of the house and crossing the fence toward the woods. Katniss didn't even know her mother knew how to do that, let alone dared to.

They found her in her room, slumped in her bed. Probably had been there for hours. Luckily Katniss was the first one to get there, as Prim had taken a detour to greet her pets. She still remembered feeling her heart in her throat as she bent down to check her pulse, then hurriedly rushing outside to keep Prim from coming in and seeing it. The younger girl broke to pieces when Katniss gave her the terrible news, struggling to go into the house and see it with her own eyes, but Katniss wouldn't let her. She quickly carted her off to the Hawthornes', where Gale barely managed to catch her as she passed out on their doorstep. Him and Rory had to carry her inside.

Gale accompanied Katniss to her house, to help her with the body and with the organization of the burial. It had to be done quickly, as there was no such thing as a morgue in District Twelve. All that was left when they moved her was a piece of paper that had been lying beside her, which Katniss hadn't noticed. It was a note in her mother's efficient calligraphy, which said simply: "I'm sorry. I love you."

Prim cried herself to sleep for weeks. Katniss never shed a tear during the daytime, but sometimes at night, when she knew nobody was watching and she didn't need to be strong anymore, she would let herself weep very quietly for her sister, her parents, their screwed up lives and how unfair everything was.

Still, they had survived, and they were now in a fairly stable place compared to their struggles in the past. Katniss could've gotten a permanent job with a permanent salary, but Prim was still terrified of the mines from their father's death and to be honest, she wasn't too keen on them either.

Their "official" story was that they had both decided to continue their mother's work as a healer, but in reality Prim was the one who did most of the work on the patients, as Katniss didn't really have the stomach for it. Prim wasn't as savvy as their mother had been, but she had studied all of their mother's notes, their father's plant book and Katniss' friend Madge would smuggle her an actual book on Medicine from time to time. She was really growing as a healer, all through her own effort.

For her part, Katniss stuck to what she did best: hunting. Since she wasn't in school anymore, she had more time to devote to it. Hunting and gathering was a lot of work, especially since her usual partner began working in the mines. But she established a routine that provided more than enough for her and Prim, and even a little surplus for Gale's family. They weren't by any means out of poverty, and they still lived on a day-to-day basis, but since they were only two mouths to feed now, it was slightly easier. It was still a risk, as it was illegal, but given that the people who were supposed to enforce the law were some of her best customers, she figured she would do it for as long as she could.

As she came to the edge of the Seam, it occurred to her that she usually traded her squirrels at the town bakery; the Mellarks had a taste for squirrel meat. She hadn't been there in a while, though, out of respect for the loss they were going through. She wondered if she should try going there now. It had been three weeks already, since the Baker had passed away.

Figuring it was worth a try, she made her way to the town bakery.

She kept an eye out for the Baker's wife as she approached the store. She didn't really need to; the horrible old woman had developed some sort of chronic arthritis-like disease a couple years back and she could no longer work at the storefront. Since then the Baker had started receiving her through the main entrance instead of the back, like he had when his witch of a wife was still around. The baker's sons, who were manning the store now that their father had died, didn't mind her coming in through the front as far as she knew. Still, better to be safe than sorry.

When she got to the entrance she saw that it was the Baker's youngest son who was tending the store. Peeta. He was her age, had been in her same grade through all their years at school. She'd never really spoken to him, but she knew his name from roll call. She hadn't seen much of him since they'd graduated, either. Mainly caught glimpses of him as she did her rounds through town, or a few times at the train station when she'd accompanied Madge and he'd be there getting supplies for the bakery.

The last she'd seen of him had been a couple of months back, when he'd taken his father to her house to see if Prim could help with his illness. The Baker had been diagnosed with cancer-- a particularly vicious type, since his prognosis was dire-- and there wasn't much Prim or even the town doctor could do for him, but his son had been hoping some herbal remedies could at least help with the symptoms.

She had caught sight of them as she was walking into the house, and they were just leaving. Peeta seemed at the ready to help his father walk if need be; the older man didn't look too steady on his feet, but insisted on moving forward on his own. Peeta had nodded at her, eyes averted, as they passed her by on their way out the door, and that was the most they had ever interacted in almost fifteen years of being acquainted.

Well, the second most, really. He'd also saved her life once. He probably didn't remember it as it had happened almost ten years previous, but she did. And she had always been unsure how to approach him with that immense feeling of debt hanging over her head. Today was no exception.

But that didn't matter. She came to town to trade game, not to have a heartfelt conversation with the guy. And she wasn't going to get any progress on _that_ front by standing awkwardly outside, so she set her shoulders and walked into the store.

There were no other customers in the store. He didn't notice she'd walked in, not at first, as he was bent over the counter, writing on what looked like a ledger with a No. 2 pencil. Waves of ashy blond hair fell over his forehead, obstructing her view of his face. She cleared her throat lightly, alerting him of her presence, and he put down the pencil between the pages with something of a sigh. "Hi, can I help you with anyth--" he started, almost automatically (she wondered how many times a day he had to use that line), but then his blue eyes locked in on her and the phrase trailed off.

There was silence for a couple seconds ( _What?_ Katniss thought, a little annoyed at his staring), but then he shook his head almost imperceptibly, like he had forgotten what he'd been about to say, and he started again. "Hi. Can I help you with anything?" he asked, closing the ledger with the pencil in the middle while giving her a friendly smile, which she figured he also gave every other customer that walked through the door.

She did not beat around the bush. "Your father used to trade me bread for squirrels," she stated, somewhat bluntly. If he was bothered by her mentioning his late father, he didn't show it. "I was wondering if you'd be interested," she finished, rearranging the strap on her shoulder.

The movement drew his eyes to the satchel she carried. "Oh. Squirrels. I see," was his immediate reply, as if he hadn't been expecting her to bring up that particular topic. Nonetheless, he took a moment to ponder her offer. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, some squirrel would be good," he let her know, with a nod. He pointed at her bag. "Did you catch one today?" She nodded. "Okay. Um, let me go get that bread, then." He gestured for her to wait a little bit.

He went to the back of the store, presumably because the bread they kept there was warmer than the one on display at the counter. His father had always done the same thing, but Katniss had never asked. In the minute or so he spent out of the room, she took the squirrel out of the game bag, holding it up by the short length of rope she had tied around its hind legs. When he came out again, she handed it to him and he passed her a paper bag containing bread. "Your father always gave me two loaves," she said, noticing that there was one more loaf in the bag than usual. He probably made a mistake.

Once again he seemed caught off-guard for a second. "Right. Well, if I'm honest I always thought your squirrels were worth more than that," he explained quickly, taking a moment to run a hand down the front of his apron. It had splotches of flour in it, which she hadn't noticed because he had previously kept to the opposite side of the counter. "Fresh game is hard to come by. In fact, if it weren't for you we wouldn't have any," he finished.

It was her turn to stare at him for a moment, measuring whether he was telling her the truth or not. It's not like he had stumbled over his answer or anything. And what reason would he have to give her extra? She couldn't shake the feeling, though. Did he remember the first time he had given her bread? Did he think her and Prim were still in such a precarious position that they'd accept charity? Because she wouldn't. She didn't need anyone's help.

Some of her suspicion must've shown in her face, though, because he hastened to add: "Really, I mean it. And now the bakery's doing better, so I can actually afford to offer you fair trade. Take them." She scrutinized his expression, but he seemed sincere. She begrudgingly relented, with a nod.

Transaction completed, she started to walk out without any other comments. She had to go to the Butcher's next. As she was crossing the threshold, though, she thought of something she did want to say. She turned back to look at him; he was still standing in the exact same position, squirrel still hanging from the piece of rope held in his hand. "I'm sorry about your father," she practically blurted out, not very delicately.

But it was true. She _had_ felt sorry when she heard the Baker had passed away. They may not have interacted much outside their trading, but he was a good man. He never looked down on her and Prim for being from the Seam (which was more than she could say of certain others like, say, his wife), and he always gave fair trade as far as she was concerned. He didn't deserve to die like that.

Peeta's easygoing smile fell, his lips drawing themselves into a tight line. Katniss understood. She knew what it was to lose a father, and she knew he must've heard people say those words to him a thousand times, and it never made anything better. She knew. And still, he nodded. "Thank you," he said, actually sounding like he meant it, like her offering her condolences really did help on some level. She didn't know why.

She made to leave, again. When she was only a few paces away from the building, she heard his voice call out. "Katniss." She wasn't surprised he knew her name; he probably learned it in school, much like she had his. She _was_ , however, surprised that he remembered it still. She looked back over her shoulder. He was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. He must've set the squirrel down on the counter. "Can I ask you something?" he questioned.

She did not reply in the affirmative, but turned fully toward him, implying she was listening. He seemed to understand. His expression serious, he began: "How do you--" He cut himself off with a frown, like the words hadn't come out right. After a short pause, he tried again. "How can you stand it?" Before she could ask what he meant, he clarified. "Having to support your entire family, I mean," he said, sounding almost pained.

The question surprised her. Why would he ask that? Could it be that there was something in common between their lives, other than the fact that both their fathers were dead? The mere idea sounded ridiculous to her. Town people and Seam people could not be more different. Even if he did have to support his family single-handedly, his situation would never be as low as hers had once been.

But then she felt bad for thinking that way. The struggles her family had gone through were not his fault. Even if he hadn't gotten to the point of pawing through someone else's trash, if for some reason what he implied was true, it had to be hard on him. She shouldn't dismiss that. No one deserved to be dismissed like they didn't matter-- _he'd_ taught her that lesson some ten years ago. "...I had Prim," she admitted, with a half-shrug. It was that simple.

He let out a mirthless chuckle, and nodded. "I see. Well. I don't even have that," he stated, his tone dry and self-deprecating. It didn't suit him, she thought. "Anyway, I'll see you around," he told her, the corners of his lips crinkling up politely, but this smile wasn't real. He walked inside before she had time to ponder about it any further.

She didn't stay there a second longer. She went off and completed her trades with Rooba and sold her bag of strawberries to Madge, picked Prim up from the Hawthornes' and got home with enough time for them to cook a decent dinner without any hurry.

But she'd be lying if she said her exchange with Peeta Mellark didn't stay in her head for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read many, many AU fics where Katniss or Peeta take the initiative to talk to the other before or without the Hunger Games, and I've loved many, many of them (this fandom is so talented, wow). However, when I set out to write my own take on AU, I couldn't see either of them taking the first step just because they wanted to. They needed something that _made_ them talk to each other. So I set out to kill a baker~ xD I feel bad for Mr. Mellark 'cause he's such a nice guy, but well, I did what I had to do. ^^;;;
> 
> It's exactly two months to the movie premiere TODAY! (Note: This story was originally posted to FFN in January). Is everybody excited? I'm so excited about this movie, it's a miracle I haven't jumped out of my skin yet. I am THAT hyped up about this. It's going to be epic, I feel it in my bones. So I thought, in celebration of the two-month mark in the countdown, I would post this. Whoo!
> 
> This is a big project I'm embarking on, and I'm kind of a little scared, to be honest. I have written up to chapter seven, and carefully planned up to chapter... twenty-one. And that's not even halfway through. So yes, it's going to be a long ride. Since it's AU I have to do some world-building at the beginning, so you know exactly where the characters stand. That means the actual plot won't actually start rolling for a few more chapters-- the reaping (which the summary is from) happens in chapter seven. I hope you'll bear with me here, though; it'll take a bit of time, but it'll be worth it!
> 
> I can't promise an updating schedule, but since I have a few more chapters already written, what I'm going to do is I'll update every time I finish one of the later chapters. If I see it's taking a bit too long, I'll just upload another one of the pre-written chapters anyway so you guys aren't left hanging forever. BUT, with the movie coming up soon, I anticipate I will be VERY inspired to write in the coming months. ;)
> 
> Please let me know how you liked it! Reviews are always encouraged and appreciated. See you next chapter!


	2. Peeta: Barely Breaking Even

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 2: Barely breaking even_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Since all the numbers were starting to swim from side to side in his field of vision, Peeta decided to take a breather for a minute and closed his eyes tightly in an attempt to make the pounding headache a little better. He dimly thought about all the horrible things the Capitol imposed on the people from the districts: letting them starve, forcing them to watch their own children die... making them do accounting...

_Alright, maybe I'm being a tad overdramatic_ , he thought with a tired chuckle. But in his defense, even someone as patient as him would be irritable after spending all night poring over accounting ledgers. Still, the financials had to be worked out and presented to City Hall by the end of the week, and... well, better him than his mother.

His eyes fell on the two slices of bare toast he had laid out on a plate, which had gone untouched since dinnertime. They were cold by now. He belatedly realized he wasn't really hungry, but he wasn't going to let them go to waste, so he pulled the plate toward him and started munching on the bread half-heartedly. It wasn't terribly exciting; his meals included stale bread practically every day, nothing new about it. But maybe eating something would help with the headache, at least.

Who was he kidding, anyway. It wasn't like his life was terribly exciting in general. Sometimes he went out for a beer with some of his old friends from school, but it wasn't that often. The highlight of his week-- maybe even his month-- happened four days previous, and he couldn't be sure it would happen again anytime soon; who knew when she'd catch a squirrel again? The rest of his days consisted of baking, tending the store and crunching out numbers. Lather, rinse, repeat.

It wasn't horrible or anything. He knew it was more than most people in the district got, and he should be thankful for it. And maybe if things were doing better, he would be. He genuinely loved baking, and he loved the bakery; it was the main reason his brothers left primary ownership to him in the first place. But now he was thinking maybe they shouldn't have. Having nothing but red numbers stare back at him at the end of every day just wouldn't let him enjoy the parts of the trade he had once loved.

Taking another bite of toast, he picked up his pencil and continued working. He had to keep his pace, or he'd never finish on time. Once again, the day ended with a barely positive balance-- not as bad as the past three days, but not nearly enough to cover all of their home expenses. He'd have to figure out which of his belongings he could sell in order to get some cash. Again.

Normally it would be his mother who took care of the accounting. Since she developed rheumatoid arthritis, her joints, especially her knees and ankles, hurt a lot. Because of that, she couldn't bake or work at the storefront anymore, and so her only task those days was to handle the financials. Now that those were less than glowing, though, Peeta had scrambled to take the task from her. He didn't need her reminding him every day how he was destroying the family business. He did enough of that on his own.

As if he'd willed it by his thoughts, his mother's voice came screeching from upstairs. "Boy!" Peeta cringed. He knew it was painful for her to walk down the stairs so instead she stayed up and had to yell, but he wished, for the thousandth time, that she could be a little nicer about it. Her tone made him feel like cattle. "Don't forget to get the dough for tomorrow ready! I'm going to bed now so DON'T make noise!" That loving remark was followed by the sound of her bedroom door slamming closed.

He sighed. He didn't know why she felt the need to keep reminding him how to do things around the bakery, like his life hadn't consisted of the exact same routine for the last seventeen or so years. She insisted on treating him like he was five. He'd heard from his friends sometimes parents did that because they didn't want to acknowledge their "little ones" had grown up; unfortunately in his case, his mother really thought he would mess everything up if she wasn't constantly around to supervise. Sometimes he thought his brothers had the right idea, getting the hell away from her as soon as they could. If only he could do the same...

He thought of his brothers as he ate the rest of his toast. His eldest brother, Brith, had gotten married last year, and was planning to have children soon, so he had decided to branch out. Peeta understood that decision; the bakery had been doing well back then, but it wasn't enough to support two families. So when he got married, he decided to go work in his wife's family business.

His other brother, Crispen, still worked at the bakery, but he no longer lived with them. As soon as Brith was out the door, he'd put in the paperwork to get his own place, and promptly moved out. He came in every day in the mornings, when it was the hardest to shuffle baking and selling at the same time. Still, at the end of the week, he took his share of the profits and took off. Peeta couldn't exactly force him to help if he didn't want to.

And that was part of the problem. It wasn't that Peeta was mismanaging the place, or that he'd made bad decisions. He was doing everything right, just like his father had taught him, but running a business wasn't easy and balancing supply and demand was tricky.

They sold bread by piece, which usually favored bakers to quickly make up for their expenses with a high margin of profit per piece. But that was because each piece was more air than actual bread. His father never approved of that; he felt it was cheating their customers, so he'd begun a strict method of weight control for all their products, and charged fair price for them. What that meant for them as bakers was a smaller margin of profit per piece, but the more they sold, the higher their overall profit. And that method had worked well for them, as far as he could remember.

Only now, his father was dead, his mother couldn't help anymore, Brith was out of the business and Crispen could only offer so much help. People were still buying (at least that hadn't changed), but with just the two of them, they could barely bake enough to break even. If things continued this way, he'd have to do something drastic, but he didn't want to have to change their sales model. It stood against everything his father ever taught him, and most people from the Seam already couldn't afford to buy bread. He wasn't going to make that even worse.

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair as he marked numbers in red. He didn't know what to do. Not for the first time, he wished his father was there with him. But he wasn't, and his death had come so suddenly, they didn't even have time to make any plans... and now Peeta couldn't help but feel he was letting his old man down. That was the worst part of it.

That, and he didn't know how long he could hide it from his mother. He would have to tell her soon. He had no illusion of her actually having any positive input for their problem, but well, they did say people had their best ideas under pressure. Maybe the threat of her throwing things at him would be enough to give him the solution he so desperately needed.

Finished with today's accounting, he closed the ledger and stood up, stretching a bit as he did. His every muscle protested-- how long had he been sitting there? Four, five hours? He took his plate and washed it in the sink, drinking a glass of water before he picked up his apron and got ready to start on tomorrow's dough. The actual baking part made him feel a little bit better, almost like therapy. _And_ , he thought as he mixed all the ingredients for the dough and then kneaded it a bit, _at least one good thing came out of this._ He half-smiled, remembering last Monday afternoon.

Katniss.

Sometimes it felt like he'd been in love with her forever. He could barely remember a time when he wasn't. It was quite pathetic, really, which is why he'd never told anyone, though he had a feeling his father had suspected it. He had tried not to be too obvious about it, but it wasn't easy. When they were in school, he tried to avoid her, made lists in his head of reasons why he shouldn't feel this way for her, even dated other girls. But then he'd catch a glimpse of her in class, or walking home with her sister, or trading with his father at the back door of the bakery, and that was all it took for him to be back on the hook.

If Crispen knew, Peeta was sure his brother would have no qualms telling him how much like a girl he sounded. And it was true, he had to admit. Most people his age wouldn't remember anything from the time they were five, but Peeta knew the day he fell in love with Katniss would be forever imprinted in his mind.

It wasn't necessarily the singing. Oh, she had the most beautiful voice, of course, and he could remember being entranced by it even at an age when most kids wouldn't be able to sit quietly for two minutes. And never again had he witnessed mockingjays go quiet that way, almost like their silence was a sign of respect. She wasn't particularly pretty either, not in the classical sense of beauty. But it was more than that. There was something about her that just... shone. An undefined quality, a vibrancy, a strength. She was special. She didn't even realize she was, but she simply stood there and sang and she took his breath away.

Even after her father died and she became the more silent and withdrawn person she was these days, she still had that. Something about the set of her shoulders, the determination in her liquid steel eyes, the hold of her hand as she held her sister protectively. Everything about her said "I'm here. Do not dismiss me."

Peeta wished he could be like that. He would never be special, as his mother was always quick to remind him. He was friendly enough, and smart enough, and okay, he could decorate a cake, but what good was that? That could be any other guy from town, as far as he was concerned. He wasn't even that brave; he'd spent the last sixteen years of his life trying to pluck up the courage to talk to the girl he liked, and when he finally did, it wasn't even on his own initiative. How's that for irony?

Thankfully, it hadn't been as awkward as he'd imagined it would be. She was quiet, of course; for any other person, that would barely qualify as an actual conversation, but he knew when it came to Katniss, even just a few words were a triumph. She caught him off guard a couple times, namely when she first walked in out of the blue, and then when she brought up the topic of squirrels-- _Be real, Peeta. Like she's going to walk in here to declare her undying love for you. That only happens in your dreams. Of course this is about squirrels._ He managed not to stumble too much through it, though.

He shouldn't have given her that extra loaf of bread. He shouldn't have because, one: in the situation he was in financially, every loaf counted. And two: even though he truly did believe her squirrels were worth three loaves, he knew she would be the type to take it as charity, and she would not appreciate that. He had seen the suspicion in her eyes and he'd scrambled to come up with a cover story... he'd had to lie to get her to accept it, and it ate at him. But he couldn't help it. Not after the first time he gave her bread, back when they were just kids.

It was another one of those moments he would never forget. Seeing malnourished children in District 12 wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence; kids from the Seam always had that underfed quality to them, with hollow cheeks and protruding bones, and he'd had to see it every day at school. They even had some of them come into the bakery to beg for scraps, sometimes. Peeta, being such a sensitive boy, had always felt a bit sick to know things like that could happen, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

But then it was _her_ , and he couldn't just stand there and watch. This girl, who had once been so fearless, so resilient despite her circumstances, was now standing in front of him in pieces. The tear tracks on her cheeks were discernible even if she was covered in mud and wet from the rain. She stumbled with every step she took. And she looked so thin, so frail, that he was afraid she would disappear in the blink of an eye. He kept himself hidden behind his mother's form not because he was shy, but because he feared looking at her directly would actually make that happen.

But the exhaustion and desperation in her eyes, that _was_ real. And it made him feel so many things, to this day he didn't know how his knees hadn't buckled. He had felt stunned, completely unprepared... and horribly guilty, his entire belief system shaken in just one second. He also felt so angry, angrier than he had ever been in his life, at the injustice of it all and his impotence to solve it. But most of all, he was scared out of his wits. She could die. _Katniss_ , she might... she could really die.

To say that it marked him would be an understatement. Because of the Capitol, even twelve-year-olds were faced with the prospect of their own mortality on a yearly basis... but being confronted with hers almost destroyed him. He would've withstood his mother's rolling pin a thousand times if it meant helping her survive.

And that instinct stayed with him, even to this day. He knew Katniss and her sister were in a much better position now than they had been back then, that she could hunt, and her sister was a healer so they had a somewhat regular income (in fact, he'd been the one to suggest taking his father to Primrose, just to get a second opinion about his illness. His mother never knew). Still, it didn't hurt to make sure, hence the extra loaf of bread.

He snapped out of his reminiscing when he realized the dough had had enough time to start the rising period. He kneaded it just a little bit more, covered it with the usual cloth and put the large container inside their ice box, where it would continue rising slowly until the morning.

After that, he decided to go to bed. He had to wake up earlier than usual, so he'd have enough time to start the baking _and_ take the accounting down to City Hall, and then get back to help Crispen with the last of the breakfast crowd. With a little bit of luck the extra time would allow him to increase their output a little bit, and maybe they wouldn't be in the red tomorrow.

His last thought before succumbing to sleep was that he might see Katniss again soon. Talk to her, maybe. There were no guarantees, of course, but just the possibility of it gave him a reason to tackle the next day with enthusiasm, for once. Something to look forward to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know ('cause I'm a nerd like that), in my headcanon Peeta's brothers are both named after types of bread, as you'd expect:
> 
> "Brith" comes from Bara Brith, a Welsh bread. The name literally means "speckled," because Bara Brith is enriched with dried fruit. I guess I've always assumed Peeta's eldest brother is freckly or something, and that's how he got the name. ;) On the other hand, "Crispen" comes from Crisp bread, a Nordic cracker-type flatbread. It's made with rye flour and, according to Wikipedia, it's pretty much a staple food in Finland and Sweden.
> 
> PS: I know nothing about business. Dammit, Jim, I'm an engineer, not an economist. xD If you happen to know a thing or two about business and realize that the model I proposed above makes no sense, please don't kill me. ^^;;;
> 
> PS2: As always, reviews are more than appreciated! See y'all in the next chapter.


	3. Gale: Sunday, Bloody Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 3: Sunday, bloody Sunday_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Also, the title for this chapter comes, of course, from a song by Irish band U2. Don't own that either!
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.
> 
> **Note 2:** I absolutely cannot write Gale. Urghhhhhh. *Pulls on hair*

It was finally Sunday, and they were out in the woods, and Gale couldn't keep a grin off his face.

There was something about the forest that never failed to put a (metaphorical) skip in his step. It wasn't the hunting itself, although he did like the feeling of victory when they got a good haul. But maybe it was more about being on the other side of the fence, having nothing to bound him, nothing to limit him. He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs to capacity; the earthy, fresh scent of the woods warmed him up from the inside. Oh, yeah. This is why Sundays were so good.

Or maybe it had something to do with the company.

He looked at Katniss as he checked the snare lines. She was sitting on a rock, tightening the string on her father's bow, which she found to be a little loose today. Her usual braid was slung over her shoulder and the end of it brushed the sleeve of her hunting jacket as she worked. Her lips were pressed tightly together; anyone else might think she was annoyed, but Gale had known her long enough that he knew she was just focused on the task at hand. It didn't seem like it was going very well.

"I don't think glaring at it is gonna make it anymore cooperative," he quipped teasingly. Katniss lifted her gaze to him and pointedly lifted one eyebrow. It clearly read as "look who's talking" and she had a point: within the borders of District 12, he was just as well-known as she was for having a serious attitude. Posy had told him more than once that her little grade-school friends thought of him as dark and brooding. He actually felt kinda proud when he heard that.

But they weren't within the borders of District 12, and the same rules didn't apply. He could be himself here, with her. Not to mention, since he was about the only person beside her sister Katniss allowed to tease her and walk away unharmed, he was going to take any chance he got. Hey, it wasn't _his_ fault she wasn't the type to tease him right back.

He came to the end of the line and was disappointed to find nothing but a pair of salamanders that were too stupid to get away. The last couple knots had given way. He sighed. "Rory set these up, didn't he?" he mumbled. Katniss nodded. Every once in a while, Katniss would take his younger brother Rory to the forest to teach him how to hunt and forage (against Gale's wishes, might he add). "Well, I guess it doesn't run in the family," he mumbled.

For the longest time his misfit of a brother had insisted he wanted to help the family somehow. Gale didn't approve. He wasn't killing himself in the mines for nothing! It was bad enough that Rory had taken out tesserae behind Gale's back; he didn't want him risking getting caught on the other side of the fence on top of that. But last year, he'd finally buttered Katniss up enough that she'd relented. Or maybe she just jumped at the chance to keep him away from her sister for a while.

"His mind wasn't in it," Katniss intervened, and it sounded like she meant it in Rory's defense at first. And though her tone didn't sound like she was being sarcastic, he knew she was implying something about his brother-- most likely that he'd been daydreaming about Prim instead of paying attention to his knots. It wouldn't be the first time that happened.

Rory and Prim had been an item for a long time now. Everybody around them was used to it by then, but Katniss still liked to give Rory a hard time about it to keep him on his toes. Mostly because Prim was such a giving, open girl, it was hard not to want to shield her from the world. It also didn't help that what started years ago as sweet, adorable puppy love was now subject to teenage impulsiveness and overactive hormones. Heck, Gale could remember how _he'd_ been at sixteen and, well... maybe Katniss had a point, being protective of her little sister. If Rory ever got that fresh with Prim, Gale might have half a mind to thump the boy himself.

"Come on. I mean, you like Rory, right?" It was a rhetorical question; he knew Katniss thought of him, his siblings and his mother almost as part of her own family.

"Yeah," Katniss responded, as expected. "But still, that's my little sister." She finished tinkering with the bow and came to stand near him as he fixed up the snares. She stared around, and Gale knew she was looking for a sturdy tree she could take a couple shots at, just to make sure she'd gotten the string tight enough.

He shook his head, a hint of a smile on the corners of his lips. "They're in love. Give them a break." He understood why she was so tough on Rory; as head of the family, she had to be tough on the suitors just on principle. But everyone could see that those two were good for each other. Even Katniss.

She rolled her eyes at him as she pulled an arrow out of her quiver. "Right, like you don't give the evil eye to any non-Hawthorne boy who comes within three feet of Posy." She ended the phrase with a scoff, which, really, was it necessary?

He glared darkly, not at her but down at his hands as he worked. "That's different," he grumbled. And it was true; there were plenty good reasons to scare grabby kids off before they could get too close to his baby sister. He could come up with a thousand... eventually.

"She's _nine_ ," she reminded him, smartly.

He huffed. Well. Good day for his hunting partner to develop a sense of humor, it seemed. "Oh, shut up," was his response. Not the best comeback ever, which already made him testy. And then she had the gall to _chuckle_ , and he was resolute to bring the conversation back to their original topic.

His trained ear caught a slight shuffle, which told him she was setting up for a shot, and then the dull "thunk" of her arrow as it hit a tree trunk. As he finished the last snare and turned his head, he noticed it was embedded on a large beech tree about 30 yards away from them. Katniss started to make her way toward it, to retrieve her arrow. "You're gonna have to get used to it when they get married," he pointed out, hands in his pockets, as she pulled the projectile free from the bark. "'Cause, you know... they _will_ get married eventually," he stated. That was just a fact.

She kept silent as she got in position to fire again. Anyone else might think maybe she hadn't heard him, but he knew she was probably just avoiding the issue; silence was her usual method of dealing with subjects that made her uncomfortable. If they were anywhere else, she would have just walked out on him, but since they were in the forest, it wasn't as easy as walking out the door. She didn't even acknowledge he had spoken until a second arrow was lodged in the tree. "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," she asserted as she put her bow down.

"She's not gonna need you forever," he was quick to bring up. Maybe it was a little cruel, but that's the way it worked between them: they had each other's back, and they weren't afraid to point out the hard truths. No sugarcoating. She needed to hear it; Prim was seventeen already and she needed to start thinking about this sooner rather than later.

"I know that," she said, almost between her teeth, and started moving toward the tree again. Her shoulders were squared off, her steps abrupt. Randomly it occurred to him, if she were a cat, she'd be hissing, her hair standing on end. Funny how much she had in common with that mangy old tomcat of her sister's she hated so much. Either way, he knew that meant she wanted out of this conversation.

Well, tough luck. "Do you, really?" he pressed on. She'd been avoiding this-- _them_ \-- too long, and it was time she face it. "'Cause soon she'll go off to live her own life, and what are you gonna do? Who's going to take care of you?" He treaded closer to her as she came back, putting the arrow back in her quiver.

Her eyes cut up to his, fierce stubbornness glinting behind the grey. "I don't need anyone to take care of me," she snapped at him, tightly.

"I know that," was his reply, tensions rising in his tone as well. "I know that better than anyone else in this godforsaken district," he reiterated, intensely. "But that doesn't mean you have to go at it alone." He took a step closer and saw her bring her bow to her front, almost like she was getting ready to shoot him if he came too close. He knew she would never do it, of course, but it was almost an automatic reaction in her. It hurt that she'd react that way to his advances, but given what happened every other time they broached this topic, he wasn't surprised.

Katniss wasn't one to talk feelings. Neither was he, of course, but he didn't like pretending everything was fine and dandy, either. He could hold himself in check long enough, make believe that they were nothing but hunting partners and it didn't bother him in the least. But every once in a while, he simply couldn't keep down the urge to stop the games and put everything out in the open, damn the consequences.

He'd come to realize he felt something more for her a few years previous. He must've been around eighteen or so. They'd been inseparable back then, having fallen quite easily into their routine as partners, and then friends. He knew most people around them thought they'd get married eventually, and that sometimes other guys from the Seam who would've risked taking a chance on her held back because of him. He'd known, and hadn't bothered to correct those assumptions, but for the most part it changed nothing between him and Katniss.

Until he found himself glaring at every guy who even remotely expressed any interest in her, and making sure they clearly understood what was behind that glare. He could be really intimidating if need be; nobody wanted to mess with him when it came to girls he felt protective over, be it his mother, his sister or just a friend. But the urge that rose in him to pound Darius' face in when he attempted to flirt with Katniss that one time was certainly not something "just a friend" would feel.

He held it in for almost seven months. Prim's first reaping came and went, as did his starting to work at the mines. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't yet used to seeing her only on Sundays, he didn't know. But that day, they somehow managed an amazing feat: they caught a wild boar-- admittedly a small one, but it wasn't every day they had that much luck. They were ecstatic to say the least; he picked her up, spun her around in his arms and they were both laughing and cheering. As he put her down again her arms were around his neck, and somehow in his effervescence he couldn't stop himself: he just leaned in and kissed her.

He should've known it would freak her out, he should've known it wasn't a good idea. In his defense, it wasn't so much an idea as it was an impulse, but still, he shouldn't have done it. Katniss wasn't like other girls; she didn't waste time thinking about romance and was blissfully ignorant that any guys could be attracted to her. During their hunting time, he'd been subjected to many a speech about how she'd never get married and she'd never bring kids into this horrible world. And he knew she meant it.

He had rested his forehead against hers, and whispered that he loved her. She had looked up at him in shock and all but croaked: "Gale, don't."

He had stepped back then, terrified his actions had pushed her away for good. He wasn't going to take his feelings back-- he was a man of his word and he took responsibility for everything he said or did. But he rushed to make it clear that he wasn't trying to pressure her. She wasn't ready for this, and that was fine. He just needed her to know. And if she changed her mind one day, when the situation got better for their families, maybe they could give it a try. They would be good together, he knew it.

She insisted she wouldn't change her mind. He decided it was better to leave it at that. Through the years, he had tried to get to her, and his attempts unfailingly ended up with them arguing, her retracting, and him taking out his frustration on his crewmates for a week. It was always the same arguments: she wasn't ready, she had to take care of her family, she was too young. He didn't dare bring the topic up for months after Mrs. Everdeen died, knowing it would upset her.

In the meantime, they kept up their roles as hunting partners. She focused on getting her and Prim through each day, especially after their mother's death. And him, well, he certainly never lacked for female companionship, but it all meant less than nothing since they weren't Katniss, and that one kiss still haunted every moment he shared with her.

And now, when the situation for their families _had_ gotten better, it seemed she was still as unreceptive to the idea as she'd been back then.

He exhaled loudly, frustrated by her hardheadedness. "You just don't get it, Katniss," he persisted, trying to make her see that she needed to deal with this. "It's bad enough for two girls on their own, can you imagine how much harder things will get if it's just you?" Because it could get really bad, surely she had to know that.

It wasn't that he doubted her; he knew she was more than capable of defending herself from just about anything-- she'd once held her own against a black bear, for goodness' sake... at least long enough to get away safely. But that didn't help the worry. District Twelve was a lawless hellhole, and while sometimes that was a good thing (like when it came to their poaching), he couldn't be comfortable with the idea of her being on her own in a place where the Head Peacekeeper routinely took desperate young women into his bed, luring them in with a few coins.

Now, he knew Katniss would never stoop that low; even if her situation really got that dire at some point, he knew she'd find some other way. But it made him worry, the idea that someone, anyone, might think her easy prey. Everybody in the district, especially in the Seam, went through similar struggles, but that didn't mean they were all good people. There were all kinds of bastards out there. Most men kept away because of her "unapproachable" reputation, but that could only get her so far when she was alone. And those who backed off because of him, well... as the years passed and their relationship remained nothing but hearsay, that restraint would only become more and more flimsy.

But if he was honest with himself, the real reason why he was so insistent about this now had nothing to do with other people taking advantage of her, and more to do with Katniss herself: he was scared to death that, once she no longer had to take care of Prim, she would simply take off and leave him behind.

They'd talked often about what it would be like, to simply cross the fence and go live in the forest, away from Twelve and the oppression of the Capitol, depending only on themselves to see what was out there, beyond the woods. Him and her... they could make it, they both agreed on that. But it wasn't only them: Katniss had Prim, and he had his mother and three younger siblings to think of. There was no way they could sustain that many people, and the risk of getting caught was too high. So for the moment they remained there, their illegal hunting and foraging the most they would push the rules.

But that didn't mean they hated their situation any less. And if Katniss no longer had Prim, _he_ might not be enough to hold her back. She might...

He snapped out of his thoughts when she shook her head emphatically. "Listen, I just can't think about this right now. The reaping's coming up soon and I just..." She closed her eyes for a second, as if her thoughts overwhelmed her for a moment there. "I just don't wanna talk about this right now, okay?" she finished, pressing her lips together tightly-- and this time, it _did_ mean she was annoyed. That said, she took a few steps away from him and started looking around, checking for movement that would indicate a target was close.

He recognized that as the clear-cut evasive he'd been expecting from her since the beginning of this conversation. And quite frankly, it pissed him off. Bringing up the reaping was low, and a poor excuse when two of his own siblings could be drawn as well, but if that's the way she wanted to play it, fine. He was going to state his position, and that was it. "I'm twenty-three. I'm not gonna wait for you forever."

Her eyes flashed, her braid flinging to one side quickly as she turned sharply toward him. "I didn't _ask_ you to!" she spat back angrily.

And there it was, the crux of the matter. He clenched his jaw tightly. "Fine," he said, curtly. She was right. This was him-- it was all him, never her. She had never given him any indications that she was even entertaining the same notions he was. He'd gotten caught up in expectations and had made a fool of himself one too many times, and he was pissed as hell, because it was all his own stupid fault. "Fine. Let's just hunt," he sentenced and, grabbing his own bow roughly from its resting place against a fallen log, he stalked off deeper into the woods, never even bothering to check if she was following him. He knew she could keep up.

Well, there went his Sunday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as it makes for a good story, I don't subscribe to this fandom idea that people in District 12 marry right out of school. It makes sense anthropologically speaking, I guess, as they probably don't have a high life expectancy. Perhaps people in the Seam marry younger than people from town do (as it often happens with middle-class vs. low-class in our time). But, still it just doesn't hit me that people behave that way from the books. Two main reasons:
> 
> First, Katniss keeps repeating that she's too young to be thinking about marriage. She states several times that she thought she'd have a few more years before having to face the topic at all, and according to her, Mrs. Everdeen isn't too happy about her being in a relationship-- let alone engaged-- so early. I figure if it was commonplace for people to marry at 18-19, there wouldn't be so much hubbub about an engagement at 17.
> 
> And second, when they're watching the tapes of the Second Quarter Quell, Katniss is startled to see her mother "at her age," so I assume Mrs. Everdeen would've been around 16-17-ish back then. Katniss wouldn't have been born until about 8 years later, so I think it's most likely the Everdeens got married somewhere in their early-to-mid twenties.
> 
> In my head I kind of see that as the "norm" for the district. There are exceptions, of course (Prim and Rory are considering marriage right out of school, as you'll see in the next chapter... oops, is that a spoiler?), but in my headcanon, the average marriage age in D12 would be a good few years out of their teens, a little higher for men than for women.
> 
> So going with that assumption, "that ship hasn't sailed yet" for Katniss at 21 (or for Gale at 23). But as Gale helpfully pointed out in this chapter, it _will_ sail sooner or later. And we'll see how Katniss deals with her aversion to marriage through the fic. I hope you'll all stick with me for that! And please review, your comments always help out immensely. ^_^


	4. Prim: This Too Shall Pass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 4: This too shall pass_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Prim rearranged her position slightly, lifting her feet onto the couch. Not that resting her head against her boyfriend's shoulder was uncomfortable, but she hadn't moved in almost half an hour and the entire right side of her body was getting a little numb. She found her reading on the effect of mineral deficiencies on the body incredibly interesting (especially considering most of the ailments that affected the people in District Twelve were a product of malnutrition in some way), but maybe she could take a break?

She closed the book, making sure her finger marked the page she was reading, and leaned her head back against Rory's shoulder with a sigh. She felt him turn his head to look at her. "Finally got bored?" he asked, with a chuckle. The time she had spent reading the book Madge had brought her last week, he had spent carving a little piece of wood he'd found in the Meadow before coming to see her. He must've been close to finished by then.

She didn't even bother to open her eyes. "One day, this information might save your life. I'm sure you won't call it boring then," she replied. Rory obviously supported her goal of becoming a good healer, but he liked to tease, especially if she was "ignoring him" over a book. It was something the men in her life had in common-- Buttercup could also get a little jealous when she didn't show him enough affection. She thought it was adorable. "What are you carving?" she asked, finally taking a moment to be curious about his project.

"It's supposed to be a horse." He extended his arm to the side, showing her the figurine.

She opened her eyes to look at it, and knew she would've recognized the stallion even if he hadn't explained; it was really life-like. There was also a certain movement to it: the mane, the legs, the angle of the head. It was almost like the horse was really running. "That looks really great," she said, and meant it. He was really talented at woodworking, had been since they were kids.

He half-shrugged, with the shoulder she wasn't resting against. "I still gotta fix some details," he said. She didn't insist further because she knew when it came to his carving skills, he was his own worst critic. Instead she just closed her eyes again and got comfortable as he continued with his task. Now that she was no longer paying more attention to the book than to him, though, he didn't stay quiet for long. "So I was thinking of maybe asking Ripper if she needs any help," he let her know.

Prim let out a little laugh and turned her head a little, so she could look at his profile. "Your mother would never let you work for Ripper," she pointed out. Then she frowned a bit. "Actually, I've heard that Ripper has a thing for younger men. I'm not sure I'd be comfortable with you working for her either." She was still teasing him, but it was also kind of true.

He pretended to shudder, which made her laugh harder. "Don't even _go_ there," he said with a horrified-slash-grossed-out expression on his face, but eventually he couldn't hold it anymore and grinned cheekily at her mirth. "Seriously, though," he started again when her laughter finally subsided, "you have to stop vetoing all my suggestions. At this rate I'll never find a job!"

"Maybe you could ask in town. You never know, someone might need help," she suggested. She knew some of the merchants in town from when she'd accompany Katniss on her rounds, and most of them were nice enough. Nothing wrong with asking, she thought. She knew, ideally, Rory would prefer to work on something of his own, maybe something in carpentry; but they would never be able to afford to bring in lumber from District Seven and it's not like they could chop down trees from the forest and bring them in through the fence, like Katniss did with the game. So right now, he was simply looking everywhere, for any sort of job he could do.

"I highly doubt that," he muttered under his breath. Prim rolled her eyes. She knew he didn't think too highly of the merchant class, but sometimes she wondered how much of that resentment was really his, and how much of it was his older brother's.

In fact, sometimes she thought Rory's whole idea of getting a job went back to Gale, in a way. Rory idolized his older brother, and wanted to prove to everyone-- especially Gale-- that he could help support the family and his loved ones just as Gale had. Unfortunately, this usually clashed with Gale's idea that he had sacrificed himself all these years so that his younger siblings _wouldn't_ have to do the same. It was a disagreement that went as far back as Rory signing up for tesserae behind Gale's back, through the "why won't you teach me how to hunt" debacle, and repeating through the years. And as Rory grew up and Gale's height/strength advantage diminished, these periodic clashes got a bit more loud, and a bit more serious.

Prim knew they argued because they cared. They were really alike in many aspects, even though they would never admit it out loud; boys were silly like that. However, through a lot of prodding from both herself and Hazelle, they'd begun to step back before an argument erupted and try to come to a compromise. So Gale admitted that it would be a good idea for Rory to find a job even if he was still in school, and Rory tried to look in places his brother would approve of.

Technically, Rory could wait until graduation and go work in the mines, like his brother had. They didn't require experience or training, so that would be easy. However, Gale was diametrically opposed to that option, no compromise. It also helped that Prim herself didn't want him working in the mines; since her father died in that explosion, she had been scared of them. The fact that she had had to treat many injured mine workers didn't make her feel much better about it.

So Rory steered clear of the mines. However, that really limited his options.

For the last month or so, he'd been extra anxious about finding a job soon. At first she thought it had something to do with her turning seventeen. They intended to get married as soon as they were both out of school; he was four months younger than her and that put him in a lower grade, so they still had a couple years to get ready, but they wanted to both help their families in the meantime, and start saving up early so they could be assigned a lot and build a small house as soon as they got married.

She thought her birthday might have marked some unspoken deadline in his mind, and that's why he'd been so focused on the job hunt lately. But now she suspected there might be something more to it. She dog-eared the page she'd been reading, left her book to the side and cuddled a little closer to him. She wrapped an arm around his waist carefully, so as not to disturb his carving. "The reaping's coming up," she murmured dimly, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

He let out a sigh and his knife hand stilled, and she knew she'd hit the nail on the head. The Hunger Games were something they all had to live with, and everybody dealt with that in different ways. Many a time she had sought comfort in the words of her mother, or Katniss, or Rory; their arms around her gave her strength. For Rory, the way he coped with it was by making plans. Having something planned after the reaping made him feel he had control over his life, like everything didn't revolve around whether he was chosen or not. After the way he reacted to her bringing it up, she had no doubt his eagerness to get a job as soon as possible was an extension of that.

She took the horse figurine from between his fingers and set it on top of her book, then moved his arm so that it wrapped around her shoulders. Encircling his waist with both her arms, she pressed herself to his side, hiding her face in the crook where his shoulder met his neck. Immediately he dropped his carving knife on the small coffee table that was in front of them, and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her closer, his chin resting against the top of her head. "We're going to be fine," she stated, trying to reassure him, and herself as well.

"I have 30 slips this year," he replied, grimly. She knew. She knew, and it made her heart ache for him. She loved him, and she wanted to share his burden as much as possible, but the fact was he had 30 slips while she only had the mandatory 6, and there wasn't much anyone could do to change that. She never knew what to say whenever he brought that up.

She shook her head emphatically against him. "Gale had 42 at his most, and he never got picked," she reminded him. Both their older siblings had been through the same and even with tesserae, they'd never been chosen. Surely her and Rory could be granted the same luck. "And even if you have 30, it's still 30 out of thousands. We won't get picked."

She cupped his cheek with one hand and made him look at her. "We're going to be fine," she repeated. "We won't be reaped, and you'll get a job, and I'm finally going to finish this book and learn what the effects of vitamin D deficiency are..." He couldn't hold back a laugh at that, and she smiled, glad that she'd managed to cheer him up a little. "...And we're going to be happy. Okay?"

He was still smiling, but there was a touch of melancholy in his eyes. Once again her heart felt heavy at the unfairness of it all; they were only teenagers, there shouldn't be anything for them to be melancholy about. "I don't know what I would do without you," he said softly, touching a strand of her hair, which hung against her neck. Since their relationship got serious, she'd taken to wearing it in a half-braid instead of the usual woven braid down her back. That way, she could still keep her hair out of her face when she was tending to patients, but the rest of it was free. Rory liked to play with her hair, for some reason, and she found it soothing when he did.

As familiar as the gesture was, there was something in his tone when he spoke that made her a little anxious. Scared, even. "Remember our promise," she said. "No volunteering," she reminded him. They had agreed on this early on. Rory had a tendency to be rash at times (it was another thing the Hawthorne boys had in common), so she'd made him promise this back when they first started dating, and were facing this dilemma for the first time together. She reminded him every year.

He didn't look at her as she expected; instead, he leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes for a second. "No volunteering," he agreed. He was silent for a second, and then he opened his eyes. "That goes both ways," he declared, the steely grey of his eyes boring into hers.

She nodded, reinforcing their compromise. The corners of his mouth drew up a little. "We're going to be fine," he echoed her words from earlier. It made her smile. He kissed her forehead lightly. "I love you," he said, and she savored it. Although she never doubted his feelings, he didn't say the words often, and when he did, it was something she treasured.

"I love you," she responded in kind, and lifted her head to kiss his lips.

His arms drew firmly around her waist, bringing her closer as he breathed out in a sigh and deepened their kiss. She melted into his embrace willingly, as she always did, feeling safe from everything when she was in his arms. She was just starting to get into it, though, when there was an unexpected sound, like something being dropped on the dining table behind them, and then a voice. "Alright, that's enough."

Rory sprung off the couch and apart from her so fast, if she hadn't known better she would've sworn he'd been bitten by a snake. "Katniss!" he exclaimed, a bit wide-eyed in his surprise. "Um. How-- how was hunting?" he asked, trying a little bit too hard to appear casual. Prim had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. Usually Rory and Katniss got along just fine, but situations like these were always awkward, and Katniss could be intimidating... especially when she was carrying a bag full of dead animals she'd killed herself with impeccable aim.

If her sister noticed Rory's discomfort, it didn't show in her face. "Gale could use some help skinning the rabbits," she sentenced, her tone neutral.

The meaning behind her words was more than clear: visiting hours were over. "Right," he nodded, as if that one word required emphasis. "I should probably go, then." He leaned down to give her a kiss goodbye-- she tried to catch his lips but he dodged her and kissed her temple instead. He picked up his knife and the horse carving and with a stiff wave in Katniss' direction, walked out of the Everdeen's home like someone had set his coattail on fire.

As she watched him scuttle out, Prim finally chuckled. She turned to her older sister, giving her a mock glare over the backrest of the couch, in defense of her poor boyfriend. "Must you always do that?" Katniss said nothing, simply taking her loot out of the game bag; a pheasant and a couple woodchucks, from the looks of it. "You're so mean to him," Prim grumbled, though the corners of her mouth were still crinkling up in mirth.

Her pouting made Katniss smirk, but she still refused to admit she was being difficult on purpose. "If you help me with the pheasant I'll let you have the feathers," she offered. Prim could never resist colorful feathers, so with a shake of her head and a grin, she got off the couch and went to help her sister. She figured if she read a little faster that night, she could get her share of kisses the next day, while Katniss was out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! I hope you liked this little chapter. I just wanted to let you know (for those of you who don't celebrate this holiday... which is most of you, I guess) that this weekend is the start of Carnival, so I'll be out of town from this Friday until possibly next Thursday. I'll try my best to get chapter 11 written while I'm away but I'll have limited internet access, so I don't know if I'll be able to upload chapter 5 until I get back home. Sorry 'bout that, but I promise I'll try my hardest to update ASAP! Thanks for your patience.
> 
> (Hey, maybe if I get like a flood of reviews I'll be inspired to kidnap our mobile modem for a day so that I can post, hinthint). ;)


	5. Peeta: Fair Trade And Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 5: Fair trade and trust_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Peeta was still chuckling even a while after Old Man Rickets had left the bakery. "Rickets" wasn't actually his last name, but a nickname Peeta's brother Crispen had given the man back when they were kids, because he was somewhat bowlegged. Out of the three brothers, Peeta was always the guileless one. As a kid, he thought the moniker was mean and repeatedly tried to get his brothers to stop using it, but despite his best efforts, it stuck. Now he found himself using it as an adult... maybe he was feeling a bit nostalgic.

He was sure his mother would've closed the door in the old man's face without remorse, but he simply grabbed a piece of cloth and started wiping crumbs off the counter, while the man made his decision. He'd moved to wiping the display as the man finally walked out of the bakery, cane clanking with each step. And because he was closer to the door now, he couldn't help but hear the voices outside. "...Even that guy from the Hob who always smells like skunk told him no!" came the first one, soft and feminine, clearly a young girl. There was a light huff. "That man is disgusting. We shouldn't have even asked; I don't want Rory working with him... but he's desperate by now."

The second person who was involved in the conversation was also female, but her pitch was slightly lower, maybe a little more mature, and her tone was slightly flatter, not as springy as the first girl's had been. "I think it's good that he's considering every possible option." That caused him to startle. He'd recognize that voice everywhere.

"Of course you do, you have lower standards. As long as he does find a job-- _any_ job-- he'll spend more time away from me," said the first girl. She sounded amused. There was a pause and then a rustle, accompanied by a giggle. "You could at least have the decency to pretend it's not true!" the girl exclaimed, laughing.

He left the cloth on top of the counter and moved to the door. _This is becoming less and less overhearing, and more and more eavesdropping, Mellark_ , he told himself as he took a look outside. But how could he not sneak a peek when they were having a conversation right there in front of his door? They weren't exactly being quiet-- at least the younger girl wasn't.

Katniss noticed him first. A hunter's hearing, he guessed; must've heard his sleeve brush against the doorframe, or similar. She turned her head to look at him and gave a nod in his direction. He'd learned from the previous times she'd come in to trade that this was her usual form of greeting.

The other girl, a slightly taller blonde whom he now recognized as Primrose, Katniss' younger sister, did not notice him yet. Perhaps those keen reflexes didn't run in the family. "I don't know what we're going to do, though," she lamented, hugging her little round, wooden container to her chest. That's where she carried blocks of goat cheese, which she made herself every few weeks and then sold in town. Peeta had bought a few in the past.

She let out a big sigh. He laughed silently; the exhalation seemed so out of place in someone as upbeat as her. "I just don't know who else we can--" That's when she turned around and noticed they weren't alone. "Oh! Hi." She went a little wide-eyed at being caught mid-rant, and Peeta noticed it made her sister's lips crinkle up ever-so-slightly. It was the closest thing he'd ever seen to a smile from Katniss, at least since they were kids. "I'm sorry, we're in the way," Primrose continued speaking, a little chagrined as she'd only just noticed that they were standing right in front of the bakery's main entrance.

"No, that's okay," he let the girl know, giving her a warm smile. It's not like they were blocking a steady flow of customers or anything; it was a low point in the afternoon. He wouldn't get a crowd until it was closer to dinnertime. "Things are a bit slow right now, anyway. I was just wondering if you had come by to trade."

"Yes," she said, pointing to the container she carried. "I have some goat cheese, and Katniss caught two squirrels today," she let him know.

Two squirrels didn't seem like that big a deal to him-- at least not from Katniss-- but then again, he knew next to nothing about hunting. Primrose's excitement surely meant they came to a good haul overall that day. Probably because summer had fully set in, finally. "That's great. Come on in, then." He signaled to the door and followed them inside.

Primrose set her container on top of the counter and proceeded to take out one small block of cheese wrapped in wax paper, to give to him. He walked up to the register to take out some coins to pay her, set them to the side and then went to the back, to pack up the usual loaves of bread he traded for Katniss' squirrels. All the while he was wracking his brain for a conversation topic.

The past couple of times Katniss had stopped by to trade, they'd talked some; nothing like their first conversation, but at least she hadn't completely ignored his attempts at small talk. The weather, their few acquaintances in common, nothing big. He'd never tried to talk to her when someone else was around, but if he only got the chance to talk to her once every week or so, her sister's presence wasn't going to make him shy away. Maybe that would make things easier. "So, did I hear you're looking for a job?" he asked from the back.

"No, my boyfriend is," the girl explained from the storefront. Her voice was slightly muffled because of the wall between them.

"A boyfriend your sister doesn't like?" He chuckled as he put the loaves of bread inside a paper bag. It was hard enough to tell what Katniss was thinking, especially if you hadn't been paying as close attention to her as he had through the years. He knew most people thought her aloof, cold. Peeta knew she wasn't precisely warm, but it wasn't that she disliked everyone-- she was just selective as to the things and people she was willing to lend her attention to. However, that wasn't to say she didn't dislike _anyone_ , and he could see why she would, if someone were getting a little too close to her sister. That she cared for Primrose was something nobody could ever deny.

There was laughter in the blonde girl's voice as she replied. "Oh, she likes him. She just won't admit it."

He picked up the bag and started to walk out just as Katniss intervened. "I like Rory just fine," she said with a scoff.

Peeta just managed to catch her rolling her eyes as he rounded the counter. The corners of her lips were barely quirking up, which made him smile. "I think she's just making sure nobody hurts you," he told Primrose, though he was looking directly at Katniss as he handed her the bag of bread. "I wouldn't want to be the poor guy, though. I bet she can be scary." He laughed as Katniss handed him the squirrels in turn. She didn't say anything to his comment but her smirk seemed almost amused. He mentally filed that as his new personal best.

Primrose just shook her head with a resigned smile, and he figured she'd heard something along those lines before. Whatever hard time Katniss was giving this Rory boy, at least it wasn't so serious that it put a strain between the sisters. So that was good. "We've even asked a few of the merchants-- you know, about the job," Primrose continued their previous train of conversation as he handed her the coins in exchange for the cheese. "But nobody seems to have anything available." Once again she sounded a little dejected.

The expression was as sad as it was adorable on the girl, and Peeta thought he definitely would've wanted to do _something_ , help her _somehow_ if she'd come to him with the request. And that's when an idea occurred to him. "Actually, I might be able to help you with that," he said. Primrose immediately brightened up, hope springing up on her expressive face. Katniss, who had been standing off to the side like she was just waiting for her sister to be done so they could leave, turned sharp grey eyes on him, inquisitive.

He put his hands inside his pants' pocket as he spoke. "Yeah. The thing is, the bakery hasn't been doing very well lately, so I was thinking of hiring someone to help," he explained in a casual tone.

"Don't your brothers work with you?" Katniss intervened from the side.

"Crispen does," he nodded. He wasn't sure they'd even know which one of his brothers Crispen was, but it didn't really matter. "It's still not enough, though. Basically, we have to bake more in order to make profit, and there's only so much two people can produce. I could use an extra set of hands around here."

He could see from her expression that Katniss understood the logic, more or less. She was smart and knew about business from her trading. Primrose was a smart girl, too, he knew, but at this point she was simply excited. She was almost bouncing on her tiptoes, he noted with amusement. "And you'd hire Rory?" she asked, hopeful. "He doesn't really know much about baking," she added, a bit sheepish.

"Is he a hard worker?" The girl nodded enthusiastically. "Then it's not a problem," he shrugged lightly, dismissing her concerns. "He'd mostly just be mixing up batter and taking trays in and out of the oven. The basics aren't hard, I can teach him all he needs to know. My brother and I would be doing the more complicated stuff, anyway." Crispen was usually the one who did most of the retail pastries, as well as carving cakes. Peeta handled the decorating, most of the bread, and took care of special orders like cakes and cookies. What came before all that was the bulk of the work, really.

"Why would you hire a kid from the Seam?" Katniss asked, her eyes slightly narrowed. He should've known she'd be a little suspicious; people from town did not generally associate with people from the Seam, and given that his mother was not exactly subtle about her intolerance, it wasn't a stretch to think people from the Seam wouldn't be welcome to work in the bakery.

Fortunately for Primrose's boyfriend, Peeta did not share his mother's opinions on this issue. That's not to say that hiring a boy from the Seam wouldn't be convenient for him, as well. "To be honest, I can't afford to pay him as much as I would an apprentice from town," he admitted. "But if that's okay with him..."

"That's more than okay!" the younger girl was quick to assure him, with a big smile.

"Well, then. Can he start next week?" he smiled back, feeling happy that he'd made such a sweet girl happy, and hopefully improved his business at the same time.

He'd barely finished the question when Primrose all but barreled into him, throwing her arms around him in a grateful hug. His back actually bumped into the counter from her momentum, causing him to go "oomph!," so energetic was the girl's reaction. "Thank you, thank you!" He laughed at her exuberance. Then she let go of him just as quickly, and with a rushed "I've gotta tell Rory!" she hurried out of the bakery in a blur of white fabric and blond hair.

He was still laughing as she disappeared from view. "At that speed she'll make it back to the Seam in three seconds flat," he said with an amused shake of his head. He didn't forget that Katniss was still standing there, of course. He had to seize his chance to talk to her alone.

She seemed to have something to say to him, herself. "You said the bakery was doing better," she stated abruptly.

"I'm sorry?" he questioned, confused by her sudden change of topic.

His cluelessness seemed to rub her the wrong way. Her grip on the strap of her satchel tightened. It worried him. He didn't know what he had done for her demeanor to have changed so swiftly; he would've thought she would be happy to see her sister so excited. Her next words made it clear. "The first time I traded with you. You said the bakery was doing better so you could actually afford to give me three loaves per squirrel instead of two."

He felt a hole open up in the bottom of his stomach. He knew this would happen. He knew she would figure it out eventually, and he knew she would take it the wrong way. _Stupid_. "I can--"

"You lied," she cut him off. Her eyes were narrowed, her tone was curt. "You lied to convince me to take the bread. Why would you? Did you think we would starve if we didn't have that extra loaf? My sister and I are doing just fine. You don't have to give us anything."

Once again, he tried to explain. "That's not the way it is, at all--"

"We don't need your charity," she interrupted him again. She wasn't yelling, but her words were tightly controlled, and he thought that might be even worse.

"It's not charity," he assured her, as earnest as he could be. She was misinterpreting his words. She was probably thinking he was a smug townie, rubbing in her face that he had more money than she did, and that he could afford to throw away food on a whim, but she couldn't be farther from the truth. He needed her to understand. "If you'd just let me explain--"

"Don't bother," she sentenced. She grabbed the bags of bread Primrose had left on the counter, took two loaves out and put them to the side, and then spun on her heel, her braid swishing from side to side as she walked the few steps that separated her from the main exit.

Peeta's heart leapt to his throat. He knew if she left like this, she wouldn't come back again. He couldn't let that happen. Without thinking much, he rushed in the same direction, barely getting between her and the door before she could make it out. "Wait. Please, just let me explain."

"It doesn't matter," she started, and this time he was the one to interrupt her.

"It matters to _me_ ," he sentenced, and it seemed to give her pause. Or maybe she was just measuring him up, gauging if there was a way she could get past him to make her getaway. He was heavier and stockier than her, so she probably couldn't just push him off. Oh, he was really glad she didn't have her bow and arrow with her, but you never knew with Katniss. She was resourceful.

There was silence, her observing him acutely, and him trying to figure out what he could say, how he could put his beliefs, his actions, in a way she would understand. But despite his intentions to explain himself, it was her that intervened first. "Is this about the burnt bread?"

Once more, she caught him completely off base. He couldn't remember having traded her any burnt bread; he certainly wasn't in the habit of handing second-rate loaves to his customers. But of course, he had; just not recently. "Ten years ago. I was almost passed out in front of your pig pen. You burnt two loaves of bread on purpose and when your mother told you to feed it to the pigs, you threw them my way." She shifted her gaze to the side-- not that he could hold his either.

"You remember that?" he asked, frankly a little breathless in his surprise. He knew that moment had marked him, but he had no idea it had been significant to her. Through all those years, she never given any indication that she remembered that night, let alone thought it important.

"Of course I remember," she stated, almost dismissing the question. It almost sounded like she was bothered that she could still recall that moment. "We had had nothing but boiled water with mint leaves for the previous three days. I was desperate. And you..." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, making it clear that she was uncomfortable talking about this. "You took a beating from your mother to give me that bread. If it weren't for those two loaves, we would've starved."

He tried to say something, _wanted_ to say something, but it was like his throat had dried up completely. Of course he knew they had been living in precarious conditions back then, and she had certainly looked like she was starving that day, but to hear that confirmed straight from her mouth... what could he say to that? Nothing. There were no words.

She shook her head like she didn't want to remember, and her eyes snapped back up, looking straight at him, sharp. "But we're doing fine now. We make enough to get by. We don't need your help anymore, or anyone's help." She took a breath, like bringing this up had made her worked up, agitated. "Bad enough that I can never repay you for that, but then you keep giving us food. Don't."

"You don't owe me anything," he hurried to say. He'd only ever helped her because he cared about her, not because he was expecting anything from her in return. He just wanted to see her healthy and safe. He hoped she could realize the good intentions behind his actions, but it seemed she simply didn't see things that way. She'd been taking care of everything on her own for too long; she simply wasn't used to accepting help from others.

As expected, she rejected this idea. "Yes, I owe you. Don't you get it?" She sounded frustrated that he wasn't understanding her point. Well, it was nice to know he wasn't the only one who was displeased by this train of conversation. Or maybe it wasn't nice at all, because it only served to remind him how different they were, and he didn't want to think about that, not when he was standing so close to her, for once. "You saved my life that night. You saved Prim. Nothing is enough to repay that."

"I'm not asking you to," he reiterated, emphatically. If he couldn't make her see, they'd be going back and forth for who knows how long, and he doubted she would have the patience to hang around all that time while they came to an agreement. "I didn't do it so you would pay me back, I did it because..." _Because I love you._ "...Because it was the right thing to do." He exhaled in an exhausted sigh. He could only hope he was getting through to her. "And giving you those extra loaves for your squirrels is also the right thing to do," he added, extending one arm to signal the bread she had left on the counter.

"Not if you can't afford pity," she shot back immediately.

"That's not what this--" He stopped himself before his agitation got the better of him. _Boy_ , could this woman get under his skin, and at the moment he both loved her and hated her for it. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, and tried again. "Let me put it this way," he re-started his argument. "Do you pity me because my father is dead?"

"No," she said right away, in a tone like he had just asked her the stupidest question in the world. With that and how quickly she had responded, there was no doubt she was sincere.

"Well, it's exactly the same for me," he concluded, intending to use her own argument to make her understand his. "I mean, obviously I wish that you, or anyone else, didn't have to suffer just to get by. It's not fair." He shook his head, cursing the misery and inequality that plagued their district. "But that's not pity. In fact, it only makes me admire you even more," he admitted.

One of her eyebrows raised in sync with her next question. "You admire me?" she asked, like she thought the mere idea was blatantly ridiculous. Once again she looked at him, examined him, as if trying to figure out where he was going with this, what the trick was.

There was no trick. In fact, at that point his true feelings were just pouring out of him, uncontrollable. More than he thought he'd ever reveal to her. "Of course I do!" he exclaimed, certain and irrefutable. "You've kept yourself and your sister alive and well, on your own, for almost ten years. That's _amazing_ , Katniss. I mean, I don't think I could have the strength to resist everything you went through when you were just a child, let alone make it even one day in the woods."

He didn't miss the movement: she pulled the strap of her satchel closer to her torso, almost like she was hugging herself with it. And one more time, she shrugged his words off. "Hunting? It was the only thing I could do to find food. Anybody would do that if they were in the same--"

"No, they _wouldn't_ ," he didn't let her finish the thought. Surely she couldn't believe what she had just been about to say. _Everybody_ in District Twelve was in the same situation. Two meals a day was a luxury for people in the Seam, and the rest of the District wasn't too far behind. Everybody knew what it was to want for basic necessities. But not everybody actually risked life and limb to go get food among wild dogs and bears. She had. Yet she seemed intent on passing it off like it was no big deal. "You... you really don't see it, do you?"

She frowned, not understanding his question. For a moment, he wished she could see herself as he saw her. Maybe that way she'd get it. But this wasn't about him, or about his feelings for her; it was about fair trade, and trust. His shoulders sagged, the tension leaving him in one breath. "Just take the bread. I know my Dad felt differently, but I really do believe your squirrels are worth three loaves. I wasn't lying about that, I swear." He lifted both hands, as if to convey that it wasn't a bluff. "I wouldn't feel right if I only give you two. I have to honor my side of the bargain, even if that means skimping a bit on dinner," he finished with a shrug.

He took a couple steps to the side, no longer blocking the door, so she could leave if that's what she wanted. He could see she contemplated just that for a couple seconds. After some thinking, though, she made her way to the counter, picked up the two loaves she'd left there, and put them back in the paper bags with the rest of the bread. He smiled.

She said nothing more as she walked past him and made her way out, but when she reached the exit, she paused, the hand that wasn't holding the bags resting against the doorway. She looked at him over her shoulder. "See you around," she told him. She wasn't smiling or anything, but he knew that meant things were okay between them. She walked out, heading to her next destination in her rounds, and that was it. Next time she caught a squirrel, she'd come by, and they'd trade, just like always.

He couldn't ask for anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't shake the feeling that I had a note to make about some nerdy little detail in this chapter, but now I can't remember what that was. Huh.
> 
> Anyway, I do have a something to say about the previous chapter: Prim and Rory's promise of "no volunteering" is just between the two of them. That means: Rory can't volunteer as the male tribute if Prim gets chosen, and Prim can't volunteer as the female tribute if Rory gets chosen. Basically, they don't want to be in a position where they might have to kill each other in the arena. Remember, the events in THG never happened so there's no precedent for two tributes being allowed to win because they're in love. The idea wouldn't even have crossed their minds.
> 
> However, that does not stop them from volunteering to save someone else. So if, say, Vick were to get reaped, Rory could volunteer for him. I'm sure Prim wouldn't want him to do that, but she wouldn't ask him NOT to do it-- it's his choice.
> 
> But rest assured, Vick will not be reaped. I say this for y'all's peace of mind. You guys are already crying over Prim, I don't even know how you're going to handle everything that's coming. ^^;;;
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this! I brought back Peeta's PoV, AND I gave you some Peeta/Katniss interaction-- hope you're all satisfied for the moment. Now go honor YOUR side of the bargain and tell me what you thought of this chapter! Reviews are always appreciated.


	6. Gale: Evidence Of Motive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 6: Evidence of motive_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Gale took off his gloves as he and a few of his crewmates walked down the streets of the Seam. They were going home early for a change; they had filled their quota for the week one day ahead of time, and since the next scheduled tunnel still had to be prepped, they were sent home instead.

Of course, this meant less worked hours and as such, less money, so usually in these cases, the members of the crew would look for other areas of the mine to support in order to make up for the lost time. Gale currently had two other sources of income in his household apart from his salary, so those few hours wouldn't make much of a difference, and he'd rather not take a spot from someone who needed it more.

So he was making his way home at around four in the afternoon, tired from work and sweating from the afternoon sun, but laughing as his friend Thom related his misadventures in trying to convince his girlfriend of goodness knew how many years to marry him. Bristel, the third member of their little party, was laughing so hard he was actually crying. "She says she needs to think about it. _Think about it_ , for Pete's sake! How many years have we been together?" Thom groaned loudly. "We're about to have a kid! And she says she's not sure. How does that make any sense?"

"That's women, man, I'm tellin' ya," Bristel, self-proclaimed perpetual bachelor, intervened. "They always do exactly the opposite of what you're expecting them to do. That's why I keep saying: save yourself the money, and the headache." He made a gesture with his hands, like what he was saying was nothing but proven fact. "Why do you need to get married? You guys are just fine the way you are. And what's she gonna do, run off with some other guy while carrying your baby?" He shook his head. "If she's been able to stand seeing your ugly mug every day for all these years, no way she's leaving you now."

Thom rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored the comment. "Gale, brother, you get me, don't you?"

Gale was about to reply in his friend's support when Bristel and his impertinence butted in again. "Yes, Hawthorne, commiserate with your pal here about what it feels to be ga-ga over some girl who won't give you the time of day except when she needs your help to get a dead deer across the fence." Once again he shook his head, as if disappointed in his fellow males. "Maybe you two should marry each other, you're obviously soul mates," he added, signaling his two companions.

Gale glared and took a swipe at him, figuring if the idiot wasn't going to grow the hell up on his own, a good knock to the back of the head might do the trick. Bristel sidestepped barely in time to avoid it. "Hey, maybe the asshole has a point," Gale started, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Why bother getting serious about anyone when you can just be forever alone? Wouldn't that be way better?"

Bristel flipped him off. Thom let out a loud bark of laughter. Gale smirked. "See ya tomorrow, guys," he said with a wave, turning toward his street at the intersection where they usually split up.

"Oh, you think you're so hot, Hawthorne!" Bristel yelled as Gale walked away from them, not caring one bit that he was standing right on the middle of the street, screaming for all of the Seam to hear. "Well, guess what: I'm never alone! I got more game than y'all combined! You--" Before he could bury himself further in his inappropriateness, Thom took advantage of the fact that his attention was focused on Gale to deliver the wallop he so rightfully deserved and that was enough to shut Bristel up. Gale laughed all the way up to his doorstep.

He had just walked in when he was almost trampled by a stampede of Rory. "Outtathewaybro! I'mlateforwork!" the boy barely managed to wheeze out as he roughly pushed past him on his way out the door. Gale frowned. "What's up with him?" he asked as he tried to get some of the soot from the soles of his work boots before he entered the house. The question was directed at Posy, who was sitting at their kitchen table, doing homework.

"He's late for work," Posy replied ever-so-helpfully, without even looking up at him.

"Huh. Never would've guessed," he said drily as he walked in, deciding not to point out how talented his baby sister was when it came to pointing out the obvious. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vick stretched out on their mangy couch. Posy was always more the type to diligently finish all her work fresh out of school so she'd have the rest of the weekend free for play. Vick, on the other hand, was more a last-minute kind of student, not unlike his two older brothers. So it wasn't really surprising to find him snoring loudly on a Friday afternoon; sleeping was his preferred method to avoid doing homework. "He's going to get himself fired after only two weeks," he added, keeping to the topic of Rory.

Posy continued focused on her notebook while she spoke. "Oh, Peeta's not gonna fire him. He's nice."

Gale frowned, as he dropped his gloves on the coffee table in front of Vick. "Peeta? Getting friendly with the Baker, are we?"

The girl shrugged. "He gave me cupcakes once." She scribbled a couple more things on the paper in front of her and then paused, a thoughtful look crossing her features. "Gale, do you remember anything about fractions?" she asked, looking up at her older brother for the first time.

"I remember they suck," he replied quickly, taking a seat on the armrest of the couch. He wasn't really careful about it, but Vick didn't even stir. Posy pouted, but it wasn't going to work on him this time; he really wasn't in the mood to help her with schoolwork. "So why would Mellark give you cupcakes?" he asked instead, mostly to steer the topic away from fractions but also because he simply wanted to know.

Posy gave him a frustrated look. "Because he's nice," she repeated, in a tone like she was speaking to a particularly slow five-year-old. Sometimes he thought his little sister was the oldest person in the house.

She didn't need to say it twice, as the Baker's virtues had been all but hammered into his head through the whole two weeks. All Rory could talk about was how awesome his new boss was, as did Prim whenever she came over. His mother's new favorite topic of conversation was how grateful she was that someone had hired Rory. Vick and Posy kept asking Rory questions about anything and everything, like baking was suddenly the most interesting thing ever.

He wasn't being petty. He was genuinely proud of his brother for getting a job; he knew how much Rory wanted it. Still, after a couple of days anyone with more patience than him would be a bit sick of that being the only thing everybody talked about.

It didn't start to rub him the wrong way until the previous Sunday, when he'd been hunting with Katniss. After so many years of hunting together, he knew her thought process almost as well as he knew his own. She was a hunter of opportunity. She hunted to feed her family, so any prey that was in her range she would try to capture. If she could sell it or trade it in town, all the better, but she never went out specifically with that purpose.

Last Sunday, she had been specifically hunting for squirrels. Oh, she caught a fox and a rabbit, and a couple more critters were caught in their snares. She wasn't being overt, but Gale knew her well enough to notice. When he asked, she explained she'd come to an agreement with the new town Baker that he would give her three loaves of bread for each squirrel instead of two. And that's when the little seed of suspicion that was always in him when it came to dealing with merchants started to grow roots.

And now the guy was giving his sister cupcakes.

He stood up abruptly, turned on his heel and gave Vick a hard shake. That was enough to get the kid back to the land of the living, hair sticking up in every direction and gray eyes cloudy as he glared at his brother for waking him up. Without pausing for a second to entertain Vick's complaints, Gale huffed: "Help Posy with fractions," and made his way toward the door again.

"You're leaving again? But you just got here!" he could hear his sister's voice as he crossed the threshold. He let out a gruff: "There's something I gotta do!" in the general direction of his house as he made his way out their crooked gate and set foot on the packed dirt that was his street, taking the direction that would lead him to town.

When he made it to the bakery, it was the youngest Mellark-- Peeta, apparently-- who was tending the store. He was handing what looked like raisin bread to a woman he recognized as the cobbler's wife. Gale had never really had a conversation with him; his older brother, Crispen, had been in his grade at school, but Gale had never really been one to hang out with the town crowd, so they'd barely ever talked. He'd interacted with the youngest of the three was even less than that.

He stepped to the side to let the woman pass by him on the way out, and then he stepped into the bakery. Mellark caught sight of him immediately. "Hi, can I help you with anything?" It took him a few seconds to recognize him. "Hey, you're Rory's brother, right? He's in the back, let me go get him--"

"Actually, I was looking for you," Gale said, crossing his arms as he stood in front of the counter. His gaze swept over the Baker. The guy wasn't really very tall, was he? Stocky, wide in the shoulders, but not a stand-out by any means. He remembered the Mellarks were involved in wrestling back in their school days.

That seemed to surprise him. "Oh. Well, you found me," he said, apparently open to whatever it was Gale had come by to talk to him about.

Gale went straight to the point. "Why did you hire Rory?"

Mellark frowned, as if confused by the question. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Gale didn't have the patience to play around, so he didn't waste any time to make himself clear. "Why would you hire a kid from the Seam? Why not take an apprentice from town?"

Realization dawned on Mellark's face. He took a couple seconds to reply, seemingly to think of a good way to phrase his answer. Gale didn't blame him; his resentment toward merchants had never exactly been a secret. Katniss would say it made him infamous around the district. But Mellark then shook his head. "I don't see how there's a difference."

If Dough Boy thought that was a good way to phrase his answer, he was sorely mistaken, because all it did was start a spark of anger in Gale's mind. Of course there was a difference; there was an entire world of difference and people who pretended otherwise were just fooling themselves. "Listen, just cut the crap. What do you really want?"

"Why do I have to have an agenda?" Mellark asked, sounding resigned, like he'd had this argument before. He leaned against the wall that separated the storefront from the back room. It seemed like he was starting to get frustrated with Gale's questioning. Good, maybe that way he'd give him a straight answer and they could be done with this.

Gale leaned his weight on his arms against the counter. "Because in my experience, people from town don't give people from the Seam breaks for no reason."

Mellark crossed his arms, his gaze never faltering for a second. Gale had to give it to him: he didn't intimidate easily. "Well, maybe you need to get to know more people from town, then," he sentenced. Gale clenched his teeth. Then Mellark let out a sigh and took a hand to the bridge of his nose, like he was getting a headache. "You could just say thanks, you know."

"Don't make it sound like you did us a favor," Gale snapped, now really starting to get incensed.

"I know I didn't," Mellark said, very frank. He didn't sound like he was backing off, but it did seem like he just didn't see any point to getting into a confrontation. "Look, there's really nothing to it. Honest. I needed cheap help and your brother needed a job. It's win-win for both of us."

It sounded like simple logic, and he sounded sincere, but Gale knew better than to buy it. Mellark might like to think so, but the world just didn't work like that; not in District Twelve. "If it's just business," he added, "then why are you giving my sister cupcakes? That can't be good business."

"It was just two cupcakes," the blond man let out, almost in a groan. "And they were leftover anyway; no one was going to buy them the next day. Might as well give them to someone who would enjoy them instead of just throwing them to the pigs." His tone got a little harsher as he finished the sentence, in his frustration. "Or if you want, you can take it as a supplement to Rory's pay," he suggested, with a wide sweep of his arms. "He does good work, I appreciate it. And I know I don't pay him enough, so giving his little sister a cupcake every once in a while is the least I can do."

"My sister doesn't need you to feed her," Gale reminded him pointedly.

"Hey, I'm not trying to take your place or anything," Mellark said, raising his hands in front of him. Gale wasn't sure if it was supposed to tell him that he meant what he was saying, or if it was a barrier should Gale suddenly feel the need to punch him. He hadn't come here for a fight, but he might not be too far off, as the mere suggestion that he was jealous of Mellark over his sister's affection had made him bristle. "I was just trying to be nice to a sweet kid. I don't see what's so wrong about that, but you're her older brother and if you don't like it, then fine, I won't give Posy anymore cupcakes."

Gale studied him for a moment. He wanted nothing more than to tell him that's exactly what he wanted him to do, but then Posy might get upset. She was only nine but she was smart; she would notice if this guy suddenly stopped being "nice," as she had described him. He didn't want to hurt his sister. "Just don't make it a habit," he concluded, reluctantly.

Mellark's eyebrows rose under his fringe, as if he was surprised by Gale's concession. "Anything else you need? You want me to let Rory go? Maybe when my business goes down you'll finally accept that I had no ulterior motive when I hired him," he added.

Gale did not appreciate the sarcasm-- at least not when he wasn't the one dishing it out. "Your business would not go down," he scoffed, dismissive. "Everybody needs bread."

Mellark gave an equally dismissive shrug. "Yeah, well, they're not going to get it if I can't make enough," he said, pulling lightly at his apron so he could get his hands inside his pants' pockets. He sounded so dejected about his chances without Rory, it was hard not to believe him. Even for Gale.

Alright, so maybe he did need the help that desperately. Still, the fact that his business would do better with Rory helping didn't imply he had to become the new best friend of the entire Hawthorne clan, or soon-to-be Hawthornes, or sisters of soon-to-be Hawthornes. It was still hard to swallow that a merchant could be so comfortable around so many Seam brats. Tolerant? Perhaps. But altruistically nice was a stretch. And there was only one reason Gale could think of for anyone to be that nice to an entire Seam family. "Is it Katniss?" he asked, point-blank.

There was no outward reaction to the question from the Baker, not even surprise. If anything, it seemed he had no idea what Gale meant by the question. He moved a hand up to his left cheek, wiping a smudge of flour away, and then it was back inside his pocket. "What about Katniss?" he inquired, sounding perfectly casual.

He was good. But Gale was an observant guy, and he noticed the slightly too long pause before he asked the question. That smudge had been there since before Gale came in and only now did he feel the need to wipe it away. He wasn't as unaffected by the question as he meant to appear, and that was enough to confirm Gale's suspicions.

It hadn't taken him long to come to the idea that Mellark's sudden involvement with his family and friends came to be because he was trying to impress one of them. Initially he had thought it was Prim. She was the one that had interacted the most with Mellark up to that point, when selling him cheese, and Gale knew she liked the cake decorations from the bakery so she was always happy to talk to the guy.

It was kind of weird for him, because in his mind Prim was still a child and he could never really see her as anything else regardless of how much she grew, but he wasn't a fool to think everybody else saw her that way. She was pretty, with her delicate build, her town-girl looks and a sunny disposition to match. She was the type to catch men's attention unwittingly. And Mellark was only, what, four years older than her? He'd heard worse. Obviously Gale would rather all men stay the hell away from Prim, period; both for his brother and simply because he was protective of her. But even so, he understood why men would be drawn to her.

Except Rory seemed to like Mellark just fine, which certainly wouldn't happen if Mellark were trying to steal his girl. So it had to be someone else he was interested in. More than that, it had to be Katniss. Which obviously sat even worse with Gale than the former option had.

He took a step back, and crossed his arms again. "You want her. That's fine. You're not the first and you won't be the last." Despite her aloof nature, it wasn't hard to find yourself attracted to Katniss. She may not be the best-looking girl out there, but she was strong. She had spirit. That left a lasting impression. She was different from the rest, and you didn't have to know her all that well to figure that out.

But Gale _did_ know her. He knew her better than anyone else. And he knew getting behind those walls of hers took more than just fleeting attraction; he was still fighting his way through them himself. And not just any guy was brave enough to do that, or deserved the chance. "But she's not stupid," he added, his tone leaving no room for ambiguity. "You're not gonna win her over by giving her bread, or hiring Prim's boyfriend. She's smarter than that," he affirmed.

Mellark's lips drew into a thin line for about a second. "That's not why I hired Rory," he said.

"Fine." Gale could buy the idea that the bakery really needed help that desperately. The guy's father had just died, after all. But Gale didn't miss the fact that he hadn't denied he had a thing for Katniss. "I'm just saying you should keep that in mind."

That slightly frustrated edge slipped out once again in a sigh. "Look, I like Katniss," he admitted, stretching his hands out to his sides as if saying there was nothing to it. "Talking to her is interesting and I look forward to the times she stops by to trade. But this isn't some kind of plan. I'm just being friendly."

"She doesn't need anymore friends," Gale quickly retorted, eyes narrowing.

"I'd prefer to let her decide that," Mellark replied, though there was no bite in his tone. He was looking back at him calmly, without waver. There was no hardness in his gaze, no defiance; he clearly didn't want this to turn into a pissing contest, but he wasn't exactly backing down either. He looked like someone who understood Gale's position, but would not renounce his own, and expected Gale to accept that. For his part, Gale could admit to a grudging respect for that.

But either way, he'd come to the bakery to make one thing crystal clear. One thing only. "She's not alone," he sentenced, expecting his meaning to come across in that loaded sentence. Katniss was her own person; she could take care of herself and make her own decisions, but she was not to be toyed with, and Gale was there to make sure of it.

"I'm glad she's not," the other man replied with a light nod, and Gale knew that he understood. "Listen, you don't need to give me any warnings," he added. "I'm not doing anything wrong." And there it was again, that non-confrontational but steady determination.

They would never be friends; that was for sure. And even if they could be, Gale wasn't interested. Grudging respect was as far as it went. Still, there was more to Peeta Mellark than just a typical merchant-class guy. Definitely more than he had originally given him credit for. He didn't know if that made him feel better, or urged him to raise his guard even more. "You better not be." He just got the last word in when the door to the back room opened.

Rory poked his head out, his dark hair covered in flour. "Hey, Peeta, how do I know when I'm supposed to put the berries in? The dough's still--" He cut himself off when he noticed Mellark wasn't alone. "Gale?" He looked between the two men, a curious frown in his brow. "What's going on?"

Trying to come up with something on the fly, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Posy needs help with fractions." He shrugged. "I don't remember much about third grade Math," he added, as an afterthought. At least that much was true.

Rory was still suspicious. Not surprisingly. "You came all the way here to tell me that?" he asked, framing the question with a raised eyebrow.

Gale put his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly. "Was wondering if she should try to work it out with Vick, or if she'd be better off waiting for you." That made a lot of sense. Gale had all but ordered Vick to help Posy on his way out of the house, but they both knew the little weasel would find any excuse not to follow that command. He was probably back to sleeping already.

"I'll be here until eight, though," Rory reminded him. "Doubt she'll wanna wait that long."

"Actually, I don't mind if you go home a little early today," Mellark intervened and Rory turned to look at him. "Go help your sister. If you want you can help a couple hours tomorrow." Rory didn't usually have to work on Saturdays, but Gale knew he wouldn't mind, especially if Mellark let him bring Prim along.

Rory seemed satisfied with that. "Awesome. Thanks, Peeta." He turned to Gale again. "Tell Posy I'll be there before dinner."

Gale's response barely counted as more than a grunt, but it got his affirmative across. He turned to leave, with the knowledge that all the cards had been laid down on the table, in full view. Rory went on to ask whatever he'd been about to ask before, and as Gale pushed the main door to go outside, he saw Mellark nod to him; maybe a polite farewell, maybe an acknowledgement of everything that had been said between them. He didn't correspond the gesture, but he didn't feel he needed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY BOYS! -glomps Peeta & Gale- You know, I wasn't originally going to include this chapter, but I just love my boys, and in all three books they only had like one direct conversation. And while that conversation was nothing short of the holy grail for my fangirly sensibilities, I want them to interact a bit more in this fic. So this chapter is sort of setting the tone for their interaction in the rest of the fic.
> 
> Major props to Medea Smyke, whose Gale/Madge series was, I believe, where I first came across "Dough Boy" as a nickname for our dearest Peeta. It's absolutely priceless and of COURSE Gale would use it, there's no taking that out of my headcanon now. xD If you like Gale & Madge, and haven't read her stories, you should absolutely go and do that now! They're amazing!
> 
> Also, I probably should've mentioned this a long while ago (sorree!), but I do post excerpts from the upcoming chapters of this fic on my tumblr and my LJ. If you're interested in knowing a little bit of what's coming up in the next few chapters, check those out! The links to both blogs are in my profile.
> 
> PS: Next chapter's the reaping! THE REAPING, YOU GUYS! -flails- D:


	7. Katniss: The Reaping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 7: The Reaping_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.
> 
> **Note 2:** Sorry this took longer than usual, you guys! I was sick for most of the week and then conked out on cough syrup for the rest of it, which, as you might imagine, isn't very conducive to writing. But since it's my birthday as of half an hour ago (we don't use DST here), I decided I might as well give you guys a gift. Though I don't know how much of a present it will be, considering Prim is getting reaped...

Few things in life Katniss could say made her happy. It wasn't a qualifier she used often, or lightly; most of the time even "content" was a stretch in her life. But she knew for certain that seeing her sister happy was at the top of her own "happy" list, and whatever reservations she may have about Prim dating-- not _Rory_ in particular, just the dating in general-- seeing Prim laugh without a care more than made up for it.

Still, a lifetime of frowning on waste tugged at her. "You should tell them to be more careful," she commented out loud, though a smile was still tugging at the corner of her lips as she looked at the two teens who were working in the back room. "You need that flour."

Peeta, who had been talking to a fellow merchant just outside the bakery, chuckled as he walked in. "What, to make bread? Nah," he replied cheekily, mirth making his blue eyes shine. He walked closer to her, coming up almost shoulder to shoulder as he tried to sneak a peek at the pair as well. Katniss was standing directly in front of the door, so he had to lean over her shoulder a little to see them clearly. "They look like they're having fun," he added.

_As if the giggling didn't make that clear enough_ , Katniss thought as she nodded in reply. Rory had attempted to teach Prim how to mix the dough for Danish pastries, and as far as Katniss could see Prim had caught on pretty quick. But even so they'd both ended up half-covered in flour, which Peeta apparently thought was to be expected. He looked upon the scene warmly.

After a second, he took a few polite steps back. "How long have they been together?" he asked, sounding curious. He leaned against the smaller cake display that was on one side of the counter, most of his attention still on the joyful murmurs coming from the back room. So was hers.

Katniss thought back to the day her sister had come up to her, somewhat shy and blushing, to tell her she and Rory were officially dating. Prim was hardly ever shy or hesitant around Katniss, so seeing her like that immediately caused concern. She'd imagined many things the girl would have to confess to her, from trying on some of her clothes to eating the last piece of jerky they'd saved from dinner the previous night, but for her to blurt out she had a _boyfriend_ was something that had never even crossed Katniss's mind at that point. "About two years, I think," she answered Peeta. Prim must've been around fifteen back then. She was so young. She was _still_ so young.

The Baker nodded, almost distractedly. "They seem to really care for each other," he commented, pensive. There was a pause before he continued. "Must be nice. Having someone care for you that much, that is." Out of the corner of her eye she noticed he was looking at her now. He did that sometimes, and she thought it was strange; when his blue eyes fixed on her, it unnerved her, for some reason.

Having someone care in that way. She wouldn't know; not really. Love made Prim happy and Katniss would give everything she had to make sure her sister could have that. But precisely because of that, she knew romantic love wasn't for everyone. She didn't think about it much. She carried her and her sister's survival on her shoulders and that didn't leave her much time to think about boys and relationships. And she would never get married and have children, anyway; not in a world as horrible as theirs was. She thought of her parents and knew it wasn't worth it. It was pointless, so why waste any time hoping for it? "For however long it makes her happy," she muttered, hoping he'd change the subject.

He seemed to take that as a reply to his comment, and what trace there was of a smile on his face all but disappeared. Whatever he'd read into her words, it sobered him up swiftly. Once again he was silent for a couple seconds, and Katniss hoped that was the end of it, but then it wasn't. "The Reaping's coming up, isn't it?" he asked, sounding glum. "I can't imagine what you must be feeling."

Katniss dodged his gaze. Peeta was always the chattiest out of the people she traded with in town, but she didn't really mind. At first it had annoyed her a bit, but now she was used to it. It didn't feel like he was expecting her to engage in conversation, but he was always affable when she humored his attempts. But she didn't want to think about the Reaping, or breach that topic with someone she barely knew, or with anyone, really. And she was quick to let him know. "I don't want to talk about it," she sentenced.

She was determinately staring at the wall now, so she couldn't really take a guess at his reaction, but soon enough he said: "I understand." She heard him start walking and that's when she turned to look at him again. He had moved behind the counter, and smiled at her once more, the open smile he often gave his customers, as he signaled around. "So. Were you looking for any particular type of bread today?"

Katniss appreciated that he didn't push. But even if they went back to their regular transaction that day, the Reaping wasn't something anyone in Panem could avoid, especially those who were still eligible or had loved ones that were. The day was upon them less than a week later.

There was no work or school on Reaping day, so her and Gale went hunting in the morning. The early start meant they got to their rounds in town sooner than usual, ending with a visit to the Mayor's house. Mayor Undersee's daughter, Madge, who had been Katniss's only friend at school, was there to pay for their usual pouch of fresh strawberries. Thankfully, Gale had enough presence of mind not to be rude to her for once, even though she was carrying the last draft of the Mayor's Reaping speech in her hand. Katniss knew the Reaping made everybody testy, but she'd rather avoid any arguments; that would only make the day even worse.

She was back home by noon. Prim was there, already dressed in their mother's blue dress, which was the fanciest piece of clothing they owned and which Katniss had also worn in her time. It fit Prim much better, as she was taller and more willowy. They had a quick lunch of turnips and leftover wild turkey, and then she helped Prim braid her hair.

They left the house for the town square in silence, coming up to meet the Hawthornes halfway through the Seam. The boys were quiet, almost stoic against the upcoming challenge, while Hazelle reminded them every once in a while that everything would be fine. The only one who seemed frazzled was little Posy, who was not yet eligible for the Reaping but was visibly worried for her siblings. Prim immediately grabbed onto Rory's hand as they came up to the family, in the middle of a crowd of hundreds of people going in the same direction, almost like cows to a slaughterhouse.

The group reached the point where they had to split up, surrounded by the constant murmur of the people around her as the adults wished good luck to their young, wishing it would not eventually become a goodbye. Katniss conveyed the same feeling to both boys, who nodded in acceptance before mother and sister took their attention away. Then she turned to Prim and enveloped her in a hug, which made her feel a little nostalgic since her little sister was now taller than her. "Just one more time after this, and it'll be over."

"I know," she replied, but there was no hiding the fear in her voice. Katniss couldn't blame her; she was terrified herself.

They let go of each other, Rory standing to the side to lead the three toward the area where they would be standing. Before Prim could take a step away, Katniss reached out and lightly tugged at the skirt of her dress, like she used to do when she was younger and her shirts would poke out of the waist of her skirt. "Good luck, little duck," she said, her throat constricting a little.

Prim tried her best to give her a brave smile, and then let herself be pulled by Rory until they were lost in the indistinct mass of Seam teenagers. They'd eventually have to split into boys and girls, as well.

Her and the rest of the Hawthornes went to stand to the side, where everybody who wasn't eligible had to stand. As they waited she looked around, trying to ignore the few, but inevitable, people who were taking bets on the Reaping. Up on the stage at the center of the square were the usual three chairs, all occupied. She was surprised to see their one living District 12 victor, Haymitch Abernathy, had arrived on time for the event. But of course, his head was slumped back over the backrest of his chair and he appeared to be snoring loudly, so maybe being on time wasn't that big of a step up from his usual behavior.

Effie Trinket, the District 12 escort, was sitting primly-- some would say rigidly-- on the chair next to Haymitch's, and she seemed to be pointedly ignoring the obnoxious sounds coming from the man. She was dressed in a bright, _bright_ orange skirt-suit, wore a white wig that made her seem even paler than usual, and had a matching orange hat that looked more like a fluffy peacock perched on top of her curls. Beside her sat Mayor Undersee, her friend Madge's father. He appeared slightly shaky, somewhat anxious, as he often did on Reaping Day.

As she looked to the right and slightly behind her, she caught sight of Peeta in the crowd. One of his older brothers and his mother stood with him. The woman, as expected, looked none to pleased that she was forced to be there. It was probably painful for her to have to stand up for so long, but Peacekeepers predictably did not consider arthritis a good enough reason to let her stay at home, so tough luck. As if feeling her eyes on him, Peeta caught her gaze and gave her a discreet, but solemn, wave. She nodded in his direction.

At two o'clock, Mayor Undersee finally got up and took the podium. She would never say this to Madge, but she didn't pay much attention to his speech, even if it _was_ different this year. There were certain things he was obligated to say as a Government official, but for the past few weeks Madge had taken to editing his usual speech so that it could show "a little more empathy toward the pain of the families affected by the Reaping." Katniss simply didn't think a speech could do that, no matter what. What could he say? "We are deeply sorry but now we must send your kid off to his or her death. I hope you can understand"? No amount of empathy was going to make it better. Still, Madge's intention was good, so Katniss kept her opinion to herself.

Beside her, Posy was trying to convince Gale to lift her up on his shoulders so she could see better. Being a girl, she hadn't quite inherited the Hawthorne height gene. Gale kept telling her she was too big now for him to carry her that easily. That was an excuse; Katniss knew that meant he wanted his baby sister to avoid watching as much as possible. Even her having to be present was bad enough, he'd rather Posy not see the faces of those kids as they got called to a dark fate. One day she would have to see, but he wanted her to retain at least that small sliver of innocence as long as possible.

Then Effie took the podium, her tone high and bubbly as it always was as she directed the ceremony, and Katniss could almost feel Gale roll his eyes beside her. It was always the same annoying spiel, as if they had something to celebrate on this day. "Happy Hunger Games!" she intoned, chirpy. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Then, she clapped her hands once and added: "Ladies first!"

Katniss tensed as Effie moved toward the glass ball that held the names of every eligible girl in the district. Her stomach churned uncomfortably. Six of those small pieces of paper contained her sister's name, and while she knew that wasn't as many as other girls out there might have, that didn't really make it easier. _Please don't let it be Prim,_ she thought desperately, reflexively holding her breath. _Please, please don't let it be Prim._

Effie put her hand inside the ball, scrambling the slips around just for added theatrics, before finally pulling out one. She opened it carefully, making sure to smooth it out before she read it.

"Primrose Everdeen."

Initially Katniss thought she had misheard; that she'd been wishing so hard for Prim to not get called that her sister's name was still rebounding in her head. But then the crowd of girls parted and Prim was walking stiffly toward the stage, her face ashen and her hands noticeably shaking, and Katniss felt her feet moving before she even had a recollection of willing them to do so.

Only then did the people in front of them turn to look at her, as if they'd only just recognized who she was. She barely even noticed them, simply pushed them apart so she could hastily pass between them. She thought she heard Gale say her name, try and grab her arm, but she dodged his grasp, frantically trying to move forward.

_This can't be happening_ , she thought. She desperately pushed through the crowd. Six slips. Prim was six slips out of thousands! Just one time after this, she had said. Just this day and then one more, and they'd be free forever. After such a long time of risking her life out there in the forest so that her sister wouldn't have to take tesserae. After so many years of taking tesserae herself. She had had twenty-seven slips at her most, yet she never got picked. And now Prim, her sweet Prim, was.

The people of Twelve understood her grief well enough that after a moment of indistinguishable murmurs, they let her pass. Prim was almost to the stairs, Effie Trinket gesturing for her to climb the stairs quickly and join her at the podium, as Katniss made her way to the front of the crowd. "Prim!" she let out a strangled cry, feeling raw against her throat.

Every single person in the square turned to look at her, but it was only Prim's expression she could see. She was pale, visibly terrified, but not crying. Katniss wanted nothing more than to get to her, grab her and send her away, just send her away where they couldn't hurt her. _I volunteer!_ , she wanted to scream. _I volunteer as tribute!_ But she couldn't, because she wasn't eligible for the Reaping anymore. There was nothing she could do. "Prim! No! Please--"

Two Peacekeepers came up to hold her back, one on each side, yet she continued to struggle. "Let me go! Prim! Let me--" She pushed hard against both men. She didn't know where she was getting strength from, as they were both so much bigger than her, but all she knew was that she had to get to Prim, they couldn't keep her from getting to Prim. She was kicking and screaming and they were having a hard time getting a hold of her arms.

The grip of the one to her right slipped, and her reaction was instinctual: she put all her weight to that side and shoved her shoulder against his torso as heavily as she could. He lost his balance and fell, a cloud of dirt puffing up around him as he hit the ground.

The other Peacekeeper was so stunned he let go of her for one second, and she took her chance: spun on her heel and without pausing to think of where she was actually aiming, threw a punch in the direction of the man's face. Her fist flew straight through the opening in his helmet to hit him smack on the nose with an audible crack-- at least, it would've been audible, were it not for the loud gasp that burst from the entire crowd. The Reaping ceremony had stopped completely because of her outburst.

The man stumbled back, his hands going to his now bleeding nose by reflex. It was Mendel, she noted absently. But then four other Peacekeepers were converging on her, and she got ready to strike again. Only this time, one of them raised his arm at her and then all she could feel was blinding pain on the left side of her head.

She must've blacked out for a moment, because next thing she knew, she was on the ground, and someone was grabbing her by the shoulders. Ignoring the throbbing in her head she started struggling again, until a voice in her ear made her stop. "Stop! Katniss, it's me. Peeta! Katniss, stop!" She stilled and looked at him through strands of her own disheveled hair that had fallen in front of her face in her haste.

He was holding her by her wrists, so that she couldn't hit him. His grip was not tight enough to hurt, but strong enough that she couldn't shake him off. He was looking back at her with concern, maybe even some fear, as if he were trying to tell her something with his eyes: _Don't do this. Don't make things worse._

"Step aside, Hawthorne."

It was only then that she noticed that behind Peeta, Gale was standing, with his back to them. He was face to face with the four Peacekeepers, and using his height for all the advantage it could give him. Everything about his posture said they'd have to come through him if they wanted to get to Katniss. "Come on, Darius. Easy. We got her," he addressed the one at the front, who wasn't the one who had hit her with the butt of his gun, she could see, as his firearm was still holstered in his belt. It was a tense attempt at being conciliatory on Gale's part.

The Peacekeeper shook his head, almost sadly. Only then did Katniss see the red curls sneaking out from under his helmet and realized it was indeed Darius. "She punched a Peacekeeper. I can't just let her go," he said. He sounded conflicted. She had always thought he wasn't a bad guy, for a Peacekeeper, but she certainly wasn't making his job any easier.

"I said we got her, ok?" came Gale's reply, even more taut than before. He was clenching his fists, as well.

Maybe it was the unvoiced threat of more violence which made Darius think twice about it. He inclined his head to the side to take a look at her, her clothes and hair a complete mess, still half-hysterical in Peeta's arms. And then, with a sigh, he gestured in their direction with a hand, as if telling them to go already.

Peeta wasted no time. "Come on, we have to go," he said, helping her get up on her feet.

"But Prim. I can't--"

"You won't help her by ending up in jail," he reminded her pointedly. "Katniss, _we have to go_ ," he repeated, urgent, as he pulled her away from the site of the commotion. Gale did not move one inch until they were a safe distance away; only then did he turn around to follow them out of the Town square.

As they cleared the edge of the crowd she turned to look at the stage, trying to get a glimpse of Prim. She couldn't really see her face from that distance but could imagine her looking sad, scared, maybe even with tears running down her cheeks as she was lightly held back by Mayor Undersee.

The last thing she heard before losing sight of the square was Effie Trinket rushing to continue with the ceremony like nothing out of place had even happened. Only that's when Haymitch rudely grabbed the microphone from her and slurred, for the entirety of Panem to hear: "Look at that one." He let out a bark of laughter. "I like her! Lots of... spunk!"


	8. Prim: Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 8: Goodbye_
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.
> 
> **Note 2:** Um, you might wanna have some tissues at hand. Just sayin'.

Prim still had not processed what was happening when her and the boy tribute were led to the Justice Building by a group of Peacekeepers, and thrust into separate rooms. She barely paid any notice. She was still thinking of Katniss, of what might happen to her because of her outburst in the square.

It made her anxious. Katniss had always had a temper, and she didn't really know how to talk to people sometimes. Usually, when Prim was around, she did fine; even if her temper flared for some reason, she managed to hold back because she didn't want to upset her. And when things got tense, Prim could always try to smooth things out. But now she wouldn't be around-- her breath hitched as it hit her that _she might never come back_ \-- and what would happen to Katniss? She might get in trouble. She might just give up on District Twelve altogether and run off into the woods. Prim didn't want that. She wanted her sister to be happy, even if she wouldn't be around to see it.

She wiped tears off her cheeks as she looked around the room. She had already cried too much; being such a crybaby wasn't going to help her. If it had been Katniss, she knew, she would've held back the tears. She had to be strong, not just for herself but for her family. They'd be coming in soon and she didn't want to upset them even more.

The room she was in was big, and more luxurious than anything she had ever seen in her life. Flowy drapery hung from the walls, thick carpet covered the floors, and polished wooden furniture, upholstered with a plush red fabric, was evenly distributed around the space. She sat on the couch, running her hand over the velvet, feeling the softness. It was obviously designed to feel opulent. It only made Prim feel absolutely alone.

Her resolve not to cry broke the moment the door opened and Rory strode in. "I'm so sorry." His voice was breaking even before he got to her, and she let out a sob as she got up from her seat. But then his arms were engulfing her, and the smell of him-- like fresh air, like home-- wrapped itself around her. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, burying his face in her hair as she clung to his shirt, his only good shirt that she was now painting with tears. "I should've volunteered, I wanted to, but I just-- I froze, I just didn't-- and when I tried, the crowd, and then Vick was holding me back..."

She shook her head emphatically against his chest, trying to tell him that wasn't what she wanted, she never would've expected him to do that, but he was too upset to accept it. "Maybe I still can--" She felt him pull away, like he intended to run outside and tell the Peacekeepers to take him instead of the other boy.

She pulled him back to her, almost scared of letting him out of her reach. She needed him to be here, holding her, for as long they could manage. "No," she finally found her voice. "You can't volunteer. I asked Vick to hold you back if this happened," she confessed. They had promised a long time ago that they wouldn't volunteer if the other was reaped, but she always knew Rory would hardly think of that promise in the moment. And she was right.

She cupped his face in her hands, so that she could look him in the eye. "Listen to me," she started, but his expression almost stopped her in her tracks. He looked absolutely devastated. He wasn't crying, but looked on the verge of it, and it pulled at her heart because she hadn't seen him cry since the day his father died, so many years ago. But here he was, falling apart in front of her and she felt herself falling apart right with him.

Lifting her head, she pressed her forehead against his, and let out a tremulous sigh. "You have to stay here," she let out, willing her voice not to waver. "You have to stay here and take care of your family. Can you do that for me?"

"You're my family," he replied at once. There was no hesitation in his tone, no doubt, like it wasn't even a question in his mind, and Prim thought she would never love him as strongly as she did right then, a feeling so real it was almost tangible.

She kissed him, just a brush of her lips on his, so soft, but full of emotion because she loved him, she loved him so much. "I know," she told him, in between sobs. "But that's why you have to take care of Hazelle, and Vick and Posy. You have to make sure they're alright because they're my family, too. And I need them to be okay. And I need _you_ to be okay." She kissed him again, this time almost desperate. "Please tell me you'll be okay."

He was shaking his head even before she finished speaking. "I can't. I _need_ you, I--" He cut himself off, like he just couldn't bring himself to say what he'd been about to say. Drawing in a shaky breath he cradled her jaw, fingers caressing her neck up to her nape, and tangling in her hair. Then he leaned in and kissed her, deep and powerful, like he was pouring all of himself into her.

She gave all of herself right back. There were still so many things she wanted to tell him, but if this was the last time she would be with him, all she wanted was to show him how much she loved him, and this was the best way she knew how. She wrapped her arms around his waist and stood on her tiptoes, trying to pull him as close as she could. She'd always felt safe in his arms and she needed that, needed to feel completely safe for the last time in her life.

The feeling was short-lived as there was a sudden pounding at the door; surely Peacekeepers letting them know that Rory had been in there for way too long. They separated reluctantly and he made to leave without another word, but before he could turn around she grabbed his hand to stop him. "I love you so much," she finally said, in a choked whisper, wanting him to keep that one truth with him even if they were never to see each other again.

He didn't say it back, but his eyes told her more than those three words ever could.

She let go of him and he walked to the door, which was already open. She could see Hazelle and the kids waiting to come in. When Rory walked by, his mother tried to touch him, tell him something, but he dodged her grasp and took off in a run, in the opposite direction.

She didn't even have time to pull herself together before Posy barreled into her, muffling her sobs against her chest. Vick had to put his arms around little girl as well because there was no other way to hug Prim with Posy in the middle. "You gotta try your hardest to come back, Sis," he requested earnestly. She nodded and assured him she would. He squeezed her a little harder for a moment, then let go, standing to the side to let his mother pass.

Hazelle didn't hug her; instead, she brushed a few strands of Prim's hair back, softly. Prim trembled. The small caress reminded her of how much she missed her mother, and how much she wished to have her here, with her, in this most terrifying of moments. Hazelle seemed to understand that. She kissed Prim lightly on her temple and smiled through her tears. "You've made Rory so happy," she started. "And I want you to know that, in every way that matters, I consider you my daughter."

The words hit her like a hammer to her heart. She would try her hardest, but she was going to her death; they all knew it. She wouldn't come back to District Twelve again. She would never marry Rory. Yet there Hazelle was, letting her know that a signed sheet of paper and a slice of toasted bread didn't make a difference for her and her family. She was so overwhelmed, the only thing she could do was sniffle and mouth a "thank you."

Hazelle kissed her again, on the side of her head, and turned to try and pry Posy away. "Come on, honey, we have to go." She lightly pulled at the girl's arms. "There's not much time and there's still a lot of people who want to say goodbye to Prim."

The girl shook her head so emphatically, her ponytail went swishing from side to side like a whip. "I don't want to go," she sentenced, with a pout. She looked up at Prim, a frown framing her teary gray eyes. "I don't want you to go," she added, tears like pearls dropping down her cheeks.

Prim felt her heart break all over again. "Oh, sweetie," her breath came out in a sigh. "I don't want to go either," she admitted out loud, for the first time since her name was picked. It hurt. "But hey," she started, trying to sound more upbeat as she released Posy's grip from around her waist. She knelt down so the girl would be looking down at her instead of up. "You're going to keep the boys in check while I'm away, right?"

Posy sniffled a couple times, then shrugged. "Someone has to do it," she mumbled, almost resigned to her "terrible" fate.

Her expression made Prim laugh. "I love you, Posy."

The girl threw her arms around Prim's neck and hugged her tightly. "I love you too, Prim," she said, still sniffling. After a moment she let go, and heeded her mother's request to follow her and Vick out of the room. She gave Prim one last, sad wave before the door closed behind them.

In the few seconds she was alone, she took a moment to wipe off her tears and try to compose herself. She knew she would end up sobbing again anyway, but she was already so exhausted of crying. Her chest felt like someone had filled her lungs with lead and she was pretty sure that wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

She was just about to sit back down on the on the couch when the door opened again and someone unexpected, but not unwelcome, walked in. "Madge!"

"Hi, Prim," the older girl gave her a smile. Small and somewhat pained, as expected in the situation, but Prim appreciated it. Despite their social differences, Madge was unfailingly nice, and a good friend to Katniss. Prim would always be thankful for that. Madge came closer to her, a certain urgency in her steps. "I know you weren't expecting me, I'll be brief. I just wanted to give you something."

Prim wanted to assure her she didn't mind her coming to say goodbye, but before she could, Madge was pulling something out of her pocket. "They let you take one thing from the district to the arena. A keepsake, to remind you of home. Will you wear this?" She showed her what she was holding-- a golden pin, round, in the shape of a bird in flight. A mockingjay, she realized, fleetingly remembering her father from the stories Katniss used to tell her about him before bedtime.

It was a very simple piece, but beautiful. "It belonged to a relative of mine," Madge explained quickly. "She was... in the same situation you are right now," she added. Since District Twelve had only ever had two victors, neither of which was female, it was safe to assume this relative of Madge's had died in the Games. But she didn't voice that out loud.

Prim was getting choked up again, and couldn't really reply to Madge's request, but she came up to pin the little golden figurine to her dress either way. "She was strong, and she had so many people who loved her," she continued speaking about her relative in a soft, dignified tone. When the pin was securely fastened, she smiled at Prim again. "So when you're in the arena, I want you to look at this pin and remember that. Let it give you strength, because you have people here who are waiting for you."

Prim's lip trembled. "I will," she said, feeling touched. Madge leaned in to give her a small hug, then walked out of the room as briskly as she had come in.

A few seconds later, Peeta walked into the room. He, too, was carrying something for her: a small red bag, which he handed to her as soon as he was within arms' length. "I made these for you. I was going to give them to you after... after," he explains a little choppily, and she understood he meant after the Reaping, if this hadn't happened, if she hadn't been chosen. But there was no point in thinking about what-could-have-beens now. "I know they're your favorite."

She opened the bag to find four sugar cookies, frosted in white, an exquisite design of a different flower piped onto each one. The kind she'd always thought were too pretty to eat, but were too delicious not to. "I know you'll be given plenty of food in the train," he added, "but I figured I might as well..."

She shook her head, not letting him put such a considerate detail down. "No, they're perfect," she told him. Those cookies meant so much more to her than anything the people from the Capitol could give her. She looked up at him, anxious. "Is Katniss okay?"

"She's upset," he conceded, looking like he wanted nothing more than to be able to tell her Katniss was alright. But they both knew she couldn't be. "But she's calmed down a bit," he appended, trying to make her feel a little bit better about it. She took that to mean she wasn't swinging punches anymore. "I don't know if they'll let her come see you," he continued. "She's not exactly in good standing with the Peacekeepers right now. Is there anything you'd like me to tell her?"

His words saddened her, the idea of not being able to see her beloved sister one last time almost too foreign to comprehend. "Just tell her I love her," she whispered weakly, daunted by the idea of not being able to tell Katniss directly just how much she meant to her. She knew; of course she knew. It was in every day they depended on each other, every moment they spent together, every word they said. A bond so powerful, it was like a lifeline. Yet not being able to just tell her that day, in these circumstances-- she felt the weight in her chest grow heavier and heavier, almost cutting off her breath.

Peeta nodded, silent as she inhaled deeply, trying to regain her balance again. He kept his eyes on her, patiently, probably thinking she was on the verge of hyperventilation. She bit her lower lip hard, to keep from bursting into tears again. She had to be strong. Katniss would want her to be strong. "Peeta," she started, once she got a grip on her emotions. "Please, keep talking to her, every once in a while. It's good for her. I know she doesn't really show it, but she likes talking to you. Please, promise me," she requested, pressing the little bag of cookies to her chest.

He smiled a little, sadly, like Madge had. "I will," he promised her, sincerely. He opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it a second after, and she wondered what was so hard for him to say. But then he started again. "Prim, I..." He took a deep breath before finally coming out with it. "I'm in love with your sister," he professed, and it only took one look at him to know it was the truth.

She couldn't say she was surprised; the thought had crossed her mind before. Peeta was nice to everybody, but there was always a special glint in his eyes when he talked to Katniss. He seemed drawn to her every time she was near. And he tried so hard to make her smile; he probably thought it was subtle, but Prim was good at reading people and she recognized true affection when she saw it.

"I'm glad to hear that," she told him, meaning the words. As far as she was concerned, Katniss deserved all the love in the world. She didn't know if her sister returned the feeling and she wasn't one for meddling, but inwardly she wished he would tell her. It was good for a person to know they were loved, and all she wanted was for Katniss to be happy.

She hugged him, arms tight around his waist as she often did when she visited the bakery, and then he walked out, standing to the side to let the last of the Hawthornes in before disappearing into the hallway.

Gale made his way into the room, as always, all long strides and practical advice. They didn't have much time. "Okay, Prim. Listen," he started, holding her by the shoulders so as to make her look at him straight on. "You stay away from all of them, as long as you can. You're smarter than the whole bunch of 'em. I can tell you that without a doubt, and I haven't even seen them yet." That made her chuckle.

He remained serious. "Find water. Get whatever food you can from plants-- I know you know plants better than anyone else, but either way, test everything before you eat it. If you're not sure, leave it. Find shelter, if there's any. You just take care of you, alright? Let them kill each other off while you're far, far away and safe." He exhaled heavily. "You'll have to confront them eventually, of course, but this is your best bet."

She relayed to him that she understood. It didn't made her feel much better; she still had no chance of winning, but she would try her best not to let him down. He enveloped her within his arms and her slim frame disappeared into his easily. "Please take care of Katniss," she asked him, because she knew he loved her sister as well. "She's going to need you more than ever. Make her happy."

He didn't respond-- maybe he believed such a promise went unsaid, or maybe he, like all the others, didn't want to admit out loud that she wasn't going to make it. It could be either reason. He simply dropped a kiss on the top of her head, much like Hazelle had. "Give the Capitol hell, will you?" he muttered, his chin resting on top of her head, like he would sometimes jokingly do, just because he was taller. She almost smiled; the idea of her giving anyone hell was silly. But she appreciated his intention. "And come back. For Rory."

The reminder brought forth more tears, ones she couldn't hold back, as Gale walked out of the room briskly. She dropped to the couch, feeling like she weighed a ton, like she simply didn't have enough willpower to move anymore. Wetness poured down her cheeks unbridled, wetting the skirt of her dress as well as the red velvet covering of the back rest as she buried her face in the plush fabric.

She hugged her knees as she waited for the Peacekeepers to come in and take her to the train station. She wished she could be outside. If she was going to get one last hour in Twelve, she'd rather it be where she could breathe in dusty air that always smelled of coal, look at the flowers in the meadow or hear children rowdily playing on the dirt roads of the Seam. That room, as elegant as it was, felt completely alien to her, almost like she was no longer in her district.

But of course, she would only be allowed to take one last glimpse of her home through a window, as she took a one-way train ride away from everything she had ever known.

She heard the door open behind her and she tried her best to wipe her tears with the back of her hand before standing up slowly. She turned, fully expecting to find the Peacekeepers ready to lead her out of the room, but her eyes widened as she saw who the hurried steps on the hardwood floors actually belonged to. "Katniss!"

Her pace was quick and from her expression she seemed anxious. For a second Prim thought she had sneaked into the room and was worried, but then she dismissed the idea; there were two armed Peacekeepers stationed outside her door and they wouldn't ever just leave it unattended. They had to know Katniss had come in. She didn't know how she had convinced them to let her in, but she hoped she hadn't landed herself in even more trouble just to talk to her. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't have--"

Her words were cut off when Katniss resolutely walked up to her and threw her arms around her shoulders, hugging her tightly, desperately. Prim hugged her back, her hands fisting on the fabric of her sister's shirt. She knew it was folly, but the thought crossed her mind that if she clung to Katniss hard enough, they might not be able to separate them.

Her eyes fixed on the Peacekeepers who had, indeed, walked into the room right on Katniss' heels. One of them put down his weapon for a moment. "That's all you get. Come on, time's up," he stated, in a deep voice that, frankly, scared her a little.

Katniss seemed not to have heard the man. Instead, she reflexively pushed Prim's head so that her face would rest against her neck, much like their mother had done when she was little, and she wanted to keep Prim from the worst of the Games, even though they were forced to watch the carnage. Katniss's hands were trembling, much like their mother's used to. It brought her back to a simpler time, to the warmth of family-- only this time, Katniss could not protect her. She would have to face the horrors of the Games first hand, and she would have to do it alone.

"I'll get you out of this," she heard her sister say, out loud, and the cold certainty in her tone put her immediately on edge. Normally the Peacekeepers wouldn't care for such a seditious declaration, but on a bad day, they were well within their rights to take such words as treason and have the culprit punished severely. And Katniss's scene at the Reaping ceremony pretty much guaranteed it wasn't a good day for Peacekeepers in general.

She pulled back from the tight embrace, panicked. Her sister's gray eyes were wide, but focused. She could already hear the Peacekeepers starting to move toward them. She gasped. "Katniss! No. There's nothing you can--"

She didn't let her finish. Her arms gripped her shoulders, much like Gale had, only tighter, almost in a spasm, but she held Prim's gaze without flinching. "I will get you out of this," she repeated, marking each word as if she meant to leave no doubt for whoever was listening. Prim was about to reply something, anything, through the knot that had formed in her throat, but just as she opened her mouth she felt Katniss be pulled harshly away from her.

The Peacekeepers grabbed her, one on each arm, much as they had in the square, and pulled at her forcefully. She tried to keep her hold on Prim as long as possible, her fingers clinging to the fabric of her sleeves, then her collar, and lastly the pin Madge had given her, a last ditch effort to hold on. It didn't work; the latch on the pin gave way and the force of the guards' pull propelled her backwards, the golden ornament still in her hand as they dragged her to the exit.

Prim watched the scene in stunned silence, holding her breath without even realizing it. "I'll get you out of this! Prim--" was the last she saw and heard of Katniss before the large, polished wooden door slammed closed with painful finality.

That's when her knees finally gave out and she fell to the floor. All she could do was cry and pray that her sister wouldn't do anything stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. There, there. -Awkwardly pats readers' heads-
> 
> I know many of you were expecting Rory to volunteer. Sorry about that. I had to tease about it on principle, but it really was never in the cards for him, even from the beginning. But don't worry (?), I've got other plans for him.
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long to get done. I really meant to have chapter 14 done really quickly, but-but-but then all the movie premieres! And my beautiful, beautiful cast! And the interviews, and the sneak peeks, and-and-and... well, let's just say I spent more time on Photoshop than I did on Notepad this week. But you know what, I really think I can't be faulted for being late with this chapter. With all of that going on, how could I ever be expected to think of anything else but the movie and how EPIC it's going to be?
> 
> And on that note, I'm just going to warn you while I can: since the movie's coming out this Friday, you probably should not expect me to update this until AFTER the weekend, at the very least. Just the sheer excitement is going to have my head all over the place, and then when the movie actually premieres I expect I'll be going to the theater four times a day every day for the rest of the weekend, so I don't anticipate I'll have much time to write, let alone upload a new chapter. But don't worry, you'll all be too busy flailing over the movie to even worry about this fic and my lack of updating. ;)
> 
> Thanks so much for all the support, guys! I hope you liked this. The next chapter is coming from an all-new PoV! Can you guess who it will be? Be sure to let me know in a review! =)


	9. Madge: Aiding And Abetting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 9: Aiding and abetting_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Somehow they had all reconvened at Katniss' house. Madge wasn't sure why she'd come. She had only been to the Seam a few times, usually to bring Prim a book or to pay Katniss for strawberries, but it wasn't a common occurrence.

She had just been leaving the Justice Building when she saw two Peacekeepers practically deposit Katniss on the steps outside. The moment they let go of her she took off toward the Seam, Gale hot on her heels. Peeta seemed to have been waiting to the side of the building. Madge hadn't been aware him and Katniss were friends, or acquainted at all beside the fact that they were in the same grade at school, so it was surprising to see him catch up to the two a minute later.

She had been worried. Prim being reaped was enough grief for her friend, and Katniss clearly wasn't thinking straight, as evidenced by the scene at the Town Square. If she had somehow gotten into trouble with the Peacekeepers again, they wouldn't let her off with a pass this time. Things could get really bad for her. She thought maybe there was something she could do to help, so she decided to join them.

But now, she felt a bit like she was fading into the background-- and it wasn't because her skirt was the exact same color as the wall she was standing against.

Of course, this wasn't anything new for her. When she was in school, she used to stay on the sidelines voluntarily, rarely talking to anyone and only attending any kind of social functions if it was required from her as the Mayor's daughter. Now that she was older, her position as her father's assistant meant a lot of standing in the back, always at the ready to lend a hand as inconspicuously as possible. And that worked just fine for her.

This time, however, the reason why nobody was paying attention to her was because all eyes were fixed on Katniss as she ran around the house, muttering under her breath about "that ugly, old cat of Prim's," which seemed to be nowhere to be found. "The goat can stay with the Hawthornes, but the stupid cat is missing," Madge thought she heard her utter at one point. She was also picking things up here and there so she could stuff them into a small backpack she was carrying around. She was packing a getaway bag. She insisted she was going to the Capitol to save Prim.

"Okay. Okay, stop," Gale tried to halt her hurried packing for what felt like the fifteenth time. Both he and Peeta had been vocally opposed to the idea of her going anywhere in her current state, but both seemed like they expected it from her when she-- reluctantly-- confessed her idea. Their opposition to it only managed to make her even more agitated, though.

Her eyes flashed as she pulled her arm out of Gale's grasp; she had warned them all before that she was sick of being manhandled like a rag doll. It scared Madge a little. Gale wasn't being brusque in any way and she thought Katniss would understand he was only trying to help; he was her best friend, after all. But maybe she was too anxious to be understanding. "What, Gale? Do you want me to just sit here and let them kill my sister? I won't."

Madge couldn't keep her eyes from drifting toward the fifth occupant of the room. She wasn't the only one fading into the background: there Rory sat, huddled in a corner near the television set, his legs drawn up to his chest and his face hidden against his knees. He hadn't said anything since he arrived at the house, a few minutes after they had all abruptly poured in after the Reaping, but she knew he was still listening. He cringed whenever Prim's name was brought up. Her heart went out to him; she couldn't imagine how horrible he was feeling at that moment, and she hoped Katniss and the others could stop arguing, for his sake.

"That's not what I'm saying and you know it," Gale shot back, sounding almost offended Katniss could even imply such a thing. Madge didn't blame him; Gale might be a surly sort of individual in general and to Madge in particular (over ten years of selling her strawberries and the best she'd gotten was a straight-to-the-point transaction with no snide comments), but there was no denying he cared about the Everdeens. "You know I'd do anything to save Prim." He crossed his arms and responded with a glare of his own, though it was clear he was more concerned than he was angry.

Peeta was the one who voiced that concern, though. "Katniss, what you're talking about here isn't something you can just go and do," he pointed out from where he was standing near the door. "You can't just take a train to the Capitol and politely request that they let your sister go." He shook his head, almost regretful. "You need to take a step back and really think about how you can best help Prim right now. Even if it that means staying. Doing something rash and putting yourself in danger isn't going to help her at all."

She shook her head stubbornly. "There's no time for that. I have to get there. I don't know how I'll get to her but Prim is _not_ ready for the arena and if I don't do something, she won't--"

Gale cut her off before she could say once again that Prim would most likely die. Madge was thankful; the reminders weren't making any of them feel any better. "You go into the forest like a fool, without a weapon, without a plan, and you get mauled by a bear." It unsettled her a little that he was so crude in his metaphor, but it seemed to get through to Katniss, just a little bit. The forest was their world, their domain, and it was something she understood.

She hugged her backpack tightly to her torso, as if she were expecting one of them to take it away. They didn't. Instead, Gale put his hands on her shoulders and hunched over a bit, so he could look her straight in the eye. "Listen, I can't tell you not to go. If it were any of my siblings, I would be doing the exact same thing you are right now. But if I can't stop you, I have to make sure we play this smart. We need a plan. So let's just wait a couple of days, try and figure out what it's gonna take, and then we can go ahead with this."

Madge tried her best not to be unsettled by this turn of events. It didn't surprise her that they would be talking about this so freely-- Gale's disgust for the Capitol wasn't exactly a secret, and while Katniss was usually more reserved about it, she knew she held no love for their government, much less now that they were taking her sister away from her.

And she understood. She knew how horrible the Hunger Games were, what they could do to a family, and despite the fact that she lived comfortably, she could see how much people in Twelve suffered because of the Capitol's policies. She would change all of that in a second, if she could. In her heart she agreed with Gale: if she had someone that was as much a part of her as a sibling and they got reaped, who knew, she might entertain these same thoughts.

Still, there was no escaping the fact that leaving the district, attempting to stop the Games... everything they were discussing was treason. As much as she understood them, a part of her wanted to tell them they were all crazy, that they couldn't do this. She had been taught since childhood that any negative comments about the Capitol were, for one's own safety, best kept to oneself. Some kids were afraid of the dark, the bogeyman; Madge was always afraid of saying the wrong thing, and her family being punished for it. Because of that, it was hard not to feel a little bit apprehensive when someone else didn't have the same caution. But she held that fear back and kept quiet. She would never be able to convince them not to do it, anyway.

She thought Gale's words may be able to placate Katniss's urgency, but instead Madge was surprised to see her expression hardened. "You're not coming with me," Katniss declared firmly and promptly turned to walk to the bedroom, her backpack hanging back and forth in her hand as she strode away with purpose.

Gale frowned, now truly cross. "What? Of course I am. Katniss, what the hell--"

"This is _my_ problem!" came Katniss's voice from the back. The house was small, so the sound reverberated easily against the walls. Madge was sure that argument wasn't going to go far in convincing Gale to just stay, as they all cared about Prim. They wouldn't be there, trying to help, if they didn't. "Besides, you can't leave your family," she added and, well, _that_ might do the trick.

Gale set his jaw, and he seemed about to say something to refute Katniss's assertion. Madge wondered what argument he could possibly come up with, as they all knew very well his family was his number one priority. But she was sure even if he had no argument, he wasn't giving up the fight. They really were very similar, him and Katniss, she thought. There was that obstinacy inherent to both of them. No wonder they got along so well, it was them against the world.

However, before he could open his mouth, Peeta intervened. "Actually, I agree with Katniss," he said, and Gale immediately turned his glare from the door Katniss had disappeared through, to the blond man. "Your family can't make it without you. I know how much I pay Rory, and it's not enough to sustain four people without your salary from the mines."

Gale crossed his arms, defiant. "I'll figure something out," he retorted. The height advantage alone made him imposing. He must've had a lot of practice with that particular intimidating pose.

It didn't seem to shake Peeta, though. He only shook his head. "You don't have to. I'll go with her," he said. Madge almost gasped. Barely half an hour previous she'd been wondering if Peeta and Katniss were even friends, yet there he was now, offering to risk his life to help her get to the Capitol and save her sister. She had seen Rory working with him at the bakery, and she had heard that Prim visited often, but she didn't know he'd grown to care so much about the Everdeens. Clearly they were closer than she had initially thought.

Gale, predictably, didn't find Peeta's offer as admirable as she had. Instead, he looked at the blond like he'd grown a second head. "Right, and maybe you can bake a cake for Snow and lace it with cyanide. That would solve all our problems," he drawled, sarcasm dripping from his every word.

Peeta paused for a second, as if he was actually contemplating the idea. Then his eyebrows rose under his golden fringe. "Actually, that sounds like a good idea," he said, almost in wonder.

Madge had to bite down a smile. She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but either way she liked it: if he was really that naive, she thought it was sweet; if he was being sarcastic, then he was better at it than Gale was, which was downright amusing. "I'm pretty sure they have someone taste all the food the President eats," she piped in on principle, but in truth it was mostly to keep herself from bursting into laughter. It was really not appropriate in a situation like this.

Gale certainly thought so. He turned to look at the both of them like they were discussing pigs' newly-developed ability to fly. That was the first time he even acknowledged her presence in the house-- _Great, that's just the impression you wanted to make, Madge._ "You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered, supposedly under his breath, but everybody heard it. He shook his head (which Madge interpreted as him dismissing the current tone of the conversation as ridiculous and not worth pursuing), and focused on Peeta again. "Don't you have your mother to take care of?"

That was the moment Katniss chose to return to the living area. Something inside her bag rattled when she smacked it against a wall by mistake. Peeta's eyes followed her for a second. He shrugged. "It's about time my brother steps up," was his straightforward reply.

Katniss unceremoniously dropped her backpack on the couch, directly in front of the wall Madge was leaning against. "I don't need a babysitter," she sentenced, crossing her arms tightly as she stared resolutely at both men.

Gale's frown deepened, if that was even possible. Peeta shook his head. "You can't go alone."

"The more people are in on this, the more I risk getting caught," she argued. She didn't sound as exalted anymore-- her tone was level, a lot more like the Katniss Madge was used to. And loathe as she was to admit it, she was making a lot of sense. "One person sneaking out of Twelve is hard enough, but planning for two people... too many things can go wrong."

"The extra risk balances out because you have someone there to watch your back," Gale shot back. He was staring straight at Katniss, intense, and she was staring right back at him, and once again Madge could not shake the feeling they weren't talking about going to the Capitol anymore, but about hunting.

Their held gaze was interrupted very unexpectedly. "I'll go," Rory intervened, completely out of the blue. He was still hugging his legs to his chest, his face barely peeking out over his knees. He sounded like he was the one with a death sentence over his head.

"No," both Katniss and Gale snapped in unison, sharply turning to look at the boy.

Rory's lips tightened. "Well, you can't keep tossing each other the ball forever," he pointed out, voice rasping from the emotional upheaval and then being quiet for so long. "You all have something keeping you here. I don't have anyone who depends on me, and Prim is _my_ girlfriend," he explained with purpose. Madge felt for him. She had never interacted much with him but she knew Prim loved him deeply, and seeing his distress as he ran out of the Justice Building earlier left no doubt in her mind that he loved Prim just as much.

Katniss shook her head, final. "Prim would've wanted you to be safe," she started, her tone crisp. "I can't let you go anywhere."

" _Let_ me? You can't just--"

"I can," Gale interrupted, his tone demanding attention, before the argument could escalate. "The only place you're going, and you're going _right now_ , is home." It was clearly not a request, and he left no room for arguments. "You shouldn't even be listening to this."

Rory looked at his older brother for a charged couple of seconds, as if he still wanted to protest. Still, soon enough he couldn't hold his gaze, and he once again dropped his face against his knees, like he just didn't have the energy to keep arguing. But Madge didn't miss the fact that he stayed despite Gale's order. One small sign of defiance, as much as his heavy heart allowed.

Peeta leaned back, resting his weight against the edge of the table where the Everdeens usually ate, and addressed Katniss again. "So, how are we going to do this?" he asked. He'd assumed (correctly) that since the topic of Rory was now closed, the task of accompanying Katniss in her attempt to save her sister fell back on him. Gale didn't look too happy about it, but he said nothing as Peeta continued speaking. "The tribute's train has probably already left the station, and we can't exactly walk to the Capitol. At least not if we want to get there before Prim goes into the arena."

Katniss closed her eyes and took one of her hands to press against the bridge of her nose. Madge didn't know if she was trying to focus better to come up with an idea, or if she had a massive headache. Maybe it was both; after all the turmoil of the day, Madge couldn't blame her. "We stow away on another train, then," came her suggestion, though she didn't sound very convinced of her own idea.

Gale scoffed. "Wish it were that easy," he commented. With something of a grunt, he let himself fall on one of the wooden chairs near Peeta, almost like he thought the arguing part of the evening was over with now and he could at last lower his guard a little.

Madge thought she may finally have something to offer to the discussion: if there was one thing she knew more than anyone in the room, it was train schedules.

As Mayor, her father got a weekly report of all in and outbound trains, whether they were for coal transportation or passenger cars mobilizing approved visitors to the district. And as his assistant, she was the one in charge of officially receiving and reviewing these reports. "Actually, I don't think you'd be able to leave today anyway. The next train won't be departing until tomorrow morning," she let them know, cautiously pushing away from the wall. "And even if you want to get on that train, it's going to be even harder than usual."

"What do you mean?" Peeta asked. They were all looking at her now, expectant. It was kind of an odd feeling, being the center of attention for once, since she wasn't directly connected to Prim or this alarming idea they had. But of course, now that she'd spoken up there was no staying in the sidelines anymore. She wondered if this counted as aiding and abetting.

She cautiously separated herself from the wall. "The next train carries a coal shipment," she explained. "But it'll also include a couple of passenger compartments carrying a small camera crew back to the Capitol, so it's going to be heavily guarded."

"What about after that?" asked Katniss, tension once again rising on her face.

Madge shook her head sadly. "The next train is the mail, but that won't be getting in until the end of the week." And they all knew that wouldn't work. Even if they could get on that train as it left Twelve, they may not have enough time to get to Prim before the arena, and that was assuming the train didn't make any stops in the other districts before reaching the Capitol. That, Madge couldn't know. She hated to make her only friend feel even worse than she already did, but they had to have the complete picture if they were really going to embark on this fool's errand.

If it had been anyone other than Katniss, they might have let out a string of swearing. As it was, she only pressed her lips together tightly and started pacing up and down the length of the couch, surely trying to come up with an alternative. "There's got to be some other way," she said, almost willing herself to believe it.

Gale remained thoughtful, frown still in place. Peeta followed her movement for a couple seconds before speaking up in reply. "There's no way we can get on tomorrow's train," he reminded her, probably unnecessarily since they were probably all thinking exactly that by then. "The slightest sign that anything's off and the Peacekeepers will search every compartment."

There was silence for a moment, as they all inwardly measured their options. The silence was tense; Madge could almost feel another argument coming. But the tension was broken by a loud bang which startled her so much she almost jumped, and made everybody turn to look at Gale-- he had slammed his fist against the table. Judging from Katniss's expression she was about to ask Gale what the heck was wrong with him now, but he volunteered the information before she could open her mouth.

"The Peacekeepers don't check the coal."

What those words implied sounded absolutely ludicrous to her ears, but a sliver of hope came across Katniss's face so quickly, she couldn't even try and conceal her reaction. Not for the first time, Madge wondered if maybe desperation was the true mother of invention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my momentarily devolving into fangirlism but: YOU GUYS. THE MOVIE. THAT MOVIE YOU GUYS! IT'S BEEN A WEEK SINCE I FIRST SAW IT AND I STILL CAN'T GET OVER THE PERFECTION OMG. THE DVD IS COMING OUT TOMORROW, RIGHT? BECAUSE WATCHING IT THREE TIMES IN ONE WEEKEND COULD NEVER BE ENOUGH. HOLY COW. MIND. BLOWN. \o/
> 
> Ac-hem. Needless to say, I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. It was partly the reason why this chapter took longer than usual-- I couldn't get my head straight enough to start writing until monday, and chapter fifteen was a toughie. But here you have it now, and even with the current feeling in my guts that this poor excuse of a fanfic will never be enough to top all the FEELINGS~ you must be having because of the movie, I still hope you liked this.
> 
> Regarding what's discussed in this chapter, I wanted to comment on one thing: I've never been clear on what is the level of surveillance in the districts of Panem. I mean, it's very clear from the books that the houses at Victor's Village are bugged for surveillance, but I've never been sure of what goes on everywhere else. Katniss seems reluctant to discuss anything too anti-government at Twelve, unless they're on the other side of the fence, but it's not clear to me if that's because all the houses are bugged, or simply that they don't want to risk being overheard by Peacekeepers.
> 
> Personally, while I wouldn't put it past the Capitol's paranoia to bug every single house in the country, the upkeep for that would be ridiculous, they'd need to have electricity _permanently_ , and most of all I just feel it would be highly inefficient. So, for the purposes of this fanfic at least, the Capitol only assigns surveillance to people of interest to them. So Victors get their houses bugged, but Average Joe District Twelve doesn't. It's still not a good idea for anyone to go on anti-government rants within the confines of the district, but they wouldn't be found out unless the Peacekeepers overheard or someone turned them in. I don't know if that's how Suzanne Collins intended it, but that's the way it's going to be in this fic.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, and Madge's PoV! Many of you guessed it would be Rory-- sorry about that, but hey, I might still write from his PoV a little further down the road. We'll see. Please let me know what you think in a review!


	10. Katniss: The Only Thing That Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 10: The only thing that matters_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Katniss was startled into wakefulness as the train shook a little harder than usual against the tracks; it made the entire box they were sitting in rattle and it was enough to pull her out of her already light sleep. She groggily ran the heels of her hands over her eyes and turned to look at Peeta, who was sitting against the opposite face of the box, a few feet away from her. For a second it occurred to her that she might have marks on her face from falling asleep against the wood, but then again at this point looking silly for a little while was the least of her problems.

Peeta noticed her movement and smiled at her. "Hey. I was actually going to wake you up in a few minutes." He didn't look tired at all and she couldn't help but resent him a little for it.

She'd been teetering in and out of sleep since they left District Twelve. She hadn't slept a wink the previous night, still thinking of the events of the day and worrying about their escape plan. But she couldn't run on anguish forever and since they were going to be stuck inside a wooden box for who knew how long, it seemed like the best place to finally crash.

Peeta generously told her to go ahead and sleep; he'd keep watch and wake her up if he heard anything strange. Normally she wouldn't cede control to someone else like that, not when it came to her own safety, but she figured she was a light sleeper anyway so she'd most likely notice if anything was off earlier than Peeta would, even while half asleep.

As she got comfortable enough to sleep (thankfully their box was wide enough to let her sit with her legs fully stretched, unlike Peeta), she asked him, admittedly a little curious, how come he wasn't sleepy at all. He reminded her he was a baker, so he was used to getting up every day at four in the morning, unlike most other people. Of course she should've figured, as it used to be the same for her. A few years ago, getting up so early wouldn't have bothered her, as she used to go out as soon as the sun came up to hunt. Now that she didn't have school, though, she hunted later and had gotten out of the habit of getting up at the crack of dawn. That was weighing against her now.

They all had to get up incredibly early to put Gale's plan into action. She'd met him and Peeta at the east entrance to the mines, near the slag heap. Gale had talked to someone in the warehouse staff to let him have the key to the main outgoing warehouse for a few hours. He assured them the man wouldn't think anything of it; it wasn't the first time Gale came to him with that request. Katniss didn't ask why he needed access to the warehouse so often that the person in charge thought it normal, and Gale didn't volunteer the information.

The main outgoing warehouse was where they stored the coal that would be immediately shipped out to the districts. The place was sure to be empty at night; the only security was the lock, though Gale thought the rest of the building might be rigged to set off an alarm if anyone tried to break in. But either way they had the key, so that wasn't a problem.

To the side of the building, there was a conveyor belt, which was used to transport the coal from huge mounds on the floor, to their shipping containers. Since Twelve was largely forgotten in the grand scheme of Panem economy, they didn't get any advanced technology to transport the coal, just big boxes, three and a half by three and a half by three and a half, and made out of wood, which they imported from District Seven. And it was those boxes they needed.

The plan was just simple enough, or perhaps crazy enough, that it may work: they would get inside one of the boxes, with enough food and water to last them a couple of days. Gale would then secure the lid, and come morning the workers would come in with cranes and forklifts to load all the packed boxes on the train, just like they did on every other shipment day.

"Well, it's a good thing neither of us are afraid of enclosed spaces," Peeta had commented as they stood and looked at the box that would house them for the next day and a half or so. Then he had paused and turned to look at her. "Wait. You aren't, right?" he asked, sounding a little apprehensive.

She wasn't, or at least she'd never been in the past. Frankly, she did find herself dreading spending so much time in such enclosed quarters. Her father had died inside a mine shaft; this wasn't the same, and they could get out easily if they needed to, but it still made her a bit queasy. Still, if that's what it took to get to Prim, she'd push the anxiety to the back of her mind as best she could. She had to.

At that point Gale, who was completely disinclined to find anything Peeta said funny, interrupted her before she could make any comments. He handed Peeta a heavy hammer and told him to keep it close; they would need it to open the box if they had to. They didn't know if the train would go straight to the Capitol or if it there were stops in the districts, so if they had even an inkling something was off, they'd be forced to get out of the box and make a run for the passenger compartments.

While Peeta dropped their supplies bag, Katniss' bow and arrows and a small battery-powered lantern Gale had procured for them into the open box, Gale turned to her, serious. "Don't do this," he said. This whole plan with the box had been his, but apparently he had to try one last time to convince her not to go. "Give me a couple of days to find someone to take care of my family, and I'll go with you. Just... just wait for me."

It was hard for her to take how earnest he sounded. In all honesty, it was hard for her to do this, too. Her and Gale had been a team for years, and there was no one else she would rather have guarding her back. But she knew it had to be worse for him to see her off. For him, there was more behind this than just partnership. She didn't like to think about it but inwardly she simply couldn't ignore the fact that he loved her.

For a moment she wished she could reciprocate; he deserved it. But her feelings about romance and relationships hadn't changed, and right now the only thing that mattered was Prim. She didn't want to hurt him, but there was no other way. She shook her head. "I have to do this. I'm sorry."

He tried not to let the disappointment show, but she knew him, and she knew it was there. Still, he only nodded. "Be careful," he reminded her. She threw her arms around his broad shoulders. He was unfailingly solid and stable, and she tried to draw strength from that, try and overcome the fear that tugged at her from the inside. He held her tightly by her waist. They were both aware this could be the last time they ever saw each other.

After that, the only thing to do was to get in the box. Peeta, who had been standing quietly by the box waiting for them to say their goodbyes, gave her a boost as Gale went to get everything he needed to get the lid on. A few hours later the train was departing the station, and now here they were.

Peeta had continued speaking while she was remembering. "Sorry I started eating without you," he said, signaling the piece of cracker he held in his hand. Unsurprisingly, most of their food consisted of baked goods, along with a few bottles of water; just enough to sustain them for about two days. "I was hungry," he admitted a little sheepishly. "I think it may be past dinnertime. Do you want anything?"

She extended her hand to him and he handed her a few crackers and an unopened bottle of water. She took a few gulps of the water first, just small ones, because they had to make sure to ration everything. Once Peeta finished his food, he raised his legs up so that his feet were supported high against the wooden surface in front of him; the box was so small, it was the only way he could stretch his legs. Katniss didn't miss that. "Maybe if I move a little to the side you can stretch them diagonally," she offered as she split one of her crackers in two.

He shook his head. "Nah, that's okay," he said, like it didn't even bother him. "I just have to move my legs every once in a while, so they don't fall asleep," he added with a small shrug.

She studied his profile on the low light. He was doing it again, that thing where he dismissed his own discomfort like he didn't want to bother her. She'd seen him do that before, when he told her to go to sleep while he stayed up. She didn't like it. She wished he would just complain if he wanted to. He should be able to do at least that, since he was risking so much with this plan as it was.

_Come to think of it,_ she surmised, _his volunteering to come with me was probably another example of that._ Surely he was worried about his mother and brother back in Twelve; she knew their well-being weighed on him ever since his father died, yet he'd barely considered them, or what could happen to them if this plan of theirs went awry, when he made the decision to come with her. She couldn't understand how anyone could do that.

She must've been staring at him for too long, because he turned his head and, curious, asked her what was wrong. She knew she couldn't say it was nothing after gaping at him like that, so she figured she might as well ask. "Why are you here?" At his confused look, she expanded the thought. "You didn't have to do this, you know. You didn't have to put yourself in danger like this just to help me." She frowned. "We're not even friends. Not really."

He seemed taken aback by her words and she wondered if she had offended him. Sometimes her bluntness made it seem like she was throwing things back in people's faces, even when she didn't mean to. But then his eyebrows lifted a little, almost like he was amused. "Well, I guess this is as good a time as any to get to know each other better," he quipped, with a small smile. "Unless you have other plans for the twenty-four or so hours we still have of being stuck inside this box, of course," he said, jokingly.

She recognized it as an attempt to lighten her serious mood. She didn't laugh. He hadn't answered her question. Noticing her expression (or lack of it), he must've realized it wasn't working and instead took a moment to think about what to say. "It's only been a few weeks, but I've really grown to care about Rory and Prim," he started. "They're good kids, they deserve the best."

"Half the kids in Twelve are great," she shot back, not really buying it. "But you wouldn't risk your neck like this for just any good kid."

He chuckled, and she wondered if he found her insistence funny. "I guess I wouldn't," he conceded. "But it's the principle of the thing," he continued, his expression sobering up. "The day I turned nineteen... it was the happiest day of my life. I wasn't eligible for the reaping anymore, and I didn't have to worry about anyone else in my family being chosen."

She hoped he was going somewhere with this, because being reminded of how much better his life was than hers wasn't making her feel any better. Still, she let him go on. It wasn't like she was in a rush or anything. "But then I realized that even if my family was off the hook, I still have to see other people around me suffering." He frowned, shaking his head. "That just... I can't stand it."

"I kind of see Rory and Prim as the younger siblings I never had," he confessed, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I couldn't stand to see them get hurt. You know how that goes." Of course she knew. Her sister was the most important person in her life. He took a deep breath before continuing. "So if this is my only chance to help stop the Hunger Games... or at least _these_ Hunger Games... then I'm going to take it," he concluded, determination coloring his words.

She took in his expression: the line here his brows met, the way he pressed his lips together, how clouded his eyes were as he looked down at the wood between them. He seemed genuinely upset, and it was hard to think he was anything but sincere, even if such sensitivity seemed completely unfathomable to her. Surely no one could be that noble... Yet for a second she saw him again, that boy who gave her the bread that saved her life, even if it meant suffering a beating, and she knew. He really was that good a person; anyone else might have doubts but she knew he was.

And it made her feel guiltier than ever for having dragged him into this mess. Gale, she would have chosen to guard her back in a second. They worked well together, a team down to their very survival instinct. But Peeta was a baker, and really had nothing to offer to the plan, not in the way of skills or even connections. The only reason he was here was because Gale had responsibilities to uphold back at Twelve. The only reason he was here was so she wouldn't be alone. "You shouldn't have come," she sentenced gravely. "This is my problem." Having finished with the crackers, she felt like she had nothing to do with her arms, and decided to cross them around her torso.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn to look at her neutrally, much like she had done to him a minute ago. "You said that yesterday," he remembered. His hand played with a small splinter in the wood right beside him. "You said the same thing to Gale. What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that _I_ have to fix this because it's _my_ fault," she snapped at him. She felt a little bad for treating him this way, because she knew he was just curious, but she hadn't meant to actually answer his question and the frustration came through in her words.

His brow furrowed just barely. "Why would it be your fault?" he wondered out loud. "You can't control who gets reaped." His tone made it sound like he thought the mere idea was absolutely preposterous, laughable. Or at least it made _her_ feel that way.

Of course she knew that. Almost with a huff, she turned her entire torso, as best as she could, to the side, so she wouldn't have to look at him. She didn't need him to point out the obvious. She wasn't stupid; she knew there was nothing she could do to stop Prim from being chosen. It was everything _else_ she failed to do that really bothered her.

"Katniss, are you okay?"

It was useless. She couldn't just leave this place, there was about half a foot of space between them and even if she wasn't looking at him, she felt his eyes on her. It made her uncomfortable. It always made her feel strange when he looked at her like that. "I know how to hunt, and how to defend myself," she started, still feeling a little angry at herself that she was saying these things out loud. "I can take a risk like this. My odds are better. But... I never taught her."

There was silence for a minute, almost like he was processing this information. Then, he spoke: "Why didn't you?"

She shook her head. "I tried," was her response, a little defensive. "Back when our mother was still alive, I took her to the woods and showed her how I shot a small critter." She reminisced back to that day; she could remember it like it was yesterday and it only made her feel worse. Who would've thought things would get so bad that she would actually miss the days when they didn't know when their next meal would even be? Somehow those seemed simpler, now. "She started crying, and then she actually asked me to help her _heal_ the thing. I figured she just wasn't cut out for it."

She leaned her hair against the wood and thought of Prim. She wasn't sure where she'd be right now-- maybe they would've already arrived at the Capitol. She hoped she was okay. She hoped she was strong. Katniss had no doubt Prim could win over the hearts of sponsors and the audience alike. She was like sunshine. Everybody loved Prim. But the idea of her sister, her sweet, delicate sister who wouldn't even hurt a small creature if it helped her survive, in that arena... it chilled her blood.

She noticed Peeta had made no comment about it, which she thought was strange. Hadn't he just told her he cared about Prim? She turned her head back to look at him and found he'd brought his legs down and was resting his forearms on his knees. He was also smiling. "It's not funny," she retorted sharply, annoyed. She didn't know what there was to smile about. "I should have kept trying. She needed to toughen up."

"I'm not laughing at you, I promise," he hurried to clarify, raising his hands in the air as if surrendering. The corners of his lips were still curling up. "I was just thinking that... you have this idea that you've done wrong by Prim, but I think you did a great job raising her." He sounded impressed, like he couldn't believe what he was saying. "I mean, you were just a kid yourself. It's amazing."

She still felt irritation bubbling up inside her, but his words gave her pause. She'd never actually thought of herself as having "raised" Prim. She kept her fed, always made sure they had a roof over their heads, and did everything she could to make sure she always felt safe and happy. But apart from that, everything that was good in Prim, was Prim's alone. And she let him know that.

He shook his head emphatically. "Don't underrate yourself. It's obvious she really looks up to you. She wants to be strong, like you." He smiled at her again, and this time she didn't feel prickly about it. "Look, Prim is a sweet girl. She's... innocent. But maybe that's not a bad thing," he declared. "I mean, isn't that the worst part of the Hunger Games? Not only do they force kids to kill each other, but even to us who are just watching, they... they take away our innocence." He seemed to be talking to himself more than to her, but she was hanging onto his every word either way.

"And the fact that, even after everything you guys have been through, she still retains that innocence..." he continued. "The fact that she can still feel hope, the fact that she cares so much about everybody and everything even in this horrible world we live in... That's incredible." He lifted his eyes to hers, the blue color dark in the soft light. "And that's all because of you, Katniss."

She barely heard what he said last. She needed him to stop talking. She needed him to stop talking because that was Prim, that was exactly Prim, and it made her miss her little sister so much it was almost a physical pain. She shook her head. "Innocence won't help her in the arena," she spat out, her fear turning her bitter. Her throat felt tight. "If Prim dies because I didn't teach her--"

"She's not going to die," he interrupted her, sounding more assertive than she had probably ever heard him. He reached out a hand and laid it on top of her wrist, his hold steady. It was the first time he had ever touched her, other than the boost he gave her to get inside the box a few hours previous. He was still looking at her. "Maybe she can't hunt or fight. That's fine. She'll find another way."

He sounded so sure. In her head she knew he was being too idealistic, refusing to look at the facts. If they did nothing, Prim's odds of survival were slim to none. She knew that. She couldn't believe him, no matter how certain his words. But she wished she could. So desperately. "Besides," he continued, letting go of her arm, "if she can't, then that's what we're here for. I'm risking my neck by coming with you, right? I've come too far to fail now."

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, and this time she _almost_ smiled, despite herself. That was clever of him, using her own phrasing to get her thinking positively. He had talent with words.

It wasn't enough to convince her; she knew it was her fault, and there was nothing he could say to change that. But he _had_ reminded her of something else. Something she was sure of when she was with Gale just that morning, but somehow in the hours that followed, with too much time for her mind to plague her with nightmares, too much time to _think_ , she had lost sight of it. But it was still there: what she did or failed to do, it didn't matter now. The only thing that mattered was Prim. And whatever the odds, she was going to get her sister out of that arena.

She switched her position back around, so she wouldn't have to look at him over her shoulder. He seemed satisfied with that. "You should get some rest," he suggested as he rested his head against the wood at his back. "I saw that you weren't sleeping very deeply before."

"I never sleep very deeply," she pointed out. "And I've already been out too long. It's your turn."

"Oh, I'm going to sleep, too," he let her know, as he put a cap on his water bottle and stored it in one of the pockets of their supplies bag. "It's getting late. Things have been quiet so far and I'm thinking they'll probably stay that way until morning." She handed him her own bottle of water and he made sure to zip everything up, so that their stuff wouldn't end up rolling from side to side during the night. "Besides, if anything does happen, you'd be able to notice before I do." Well, that was certainly true.

He tried to stretch the muscles in his neck for a minute, before resting his head back against the box. "You don't mind if I turn off the lantern, do you?" She let him know she had no problem with it, and out went the light.

The last thought that crossed her mind before succumbing to sleep was that he really shouldn't have come with her. Rationally, she still would choose Gale as her partner for this journey, if it were possible. But even so, she was glad she wasn't alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure you know, this isn't really the way coal is transported in real life. And looking at the "Capitol Coal" train cars in the background in the reaping scene, I'm fairly sure this isn't the way coal is transported in the _Hunger Games_ movie, either. However, my plot required them to be able to hide somewhere among the coal, where they could get in/out easily in the case of an emergency, without being buried IN the coal. So I had to take some artistic license with it. In my head it's not that big a jump from distributing raw coal to distributing packed coal, and it's never struck me like the districts of Panem do much outsourcing, but I know nothing about business so I could be wrong. I hope it doesn't stretch your suspension of disbelief TOO much.
> 
> Meanwhile, I wanted to thank you all for the support you've given this fic! As of last chapter, _Ricochet_ is on the favorites list of over 100 people, and on story alerts for over 200 people. That's amazing, guys! You're blowing my mind here. Even so, remember the best way to let me know how you like my fic is to leave a review! In fact, here are some other reasons why you should review:
> 
> 1\. Because you can give me suggestions and/or constructive criticism so that I can make this fic better.
> 
> 2\. Because my mommy said I'm special and you should love me.
> 
> 3\. Because I'm kinda stupid like that, so when people ask me questions or leave speculation of what they think is going to happen in a review, I always end up giving out spoilers for later chapters when I reply. I'm not kidding! I try to be sneaky and keep the suspense up and stuff, but then I can't help myself and I always end up kicking myself for saying too much. So if you want to get SOME info out of me, the best way to get it is to ask me in a review.
> 
> This wasn't a Peeta PoV, but I hope you're satisfied with the amount of Peeta and Peeta/Katniss interaction in this chapter! I know y'all were waiting for it, so I hope you liked it. See you next time!


	11. Gale: I Have This Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 11: I have this friend_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Normally, Gale would wait until after dinner to go visit other people's homes. There were many reasons for this.

Mainly, it was because his mother insisted it was impolite to show up on someone's doorstep while covered in soot from the mines, even if Gale was always sure to point out that _everything_ in Twelve was covered in soot anyway. (It was quite the debate they had going about this back during his first few years of working in the mines. By now he just decided to go with it and save himself the trouble). There was also the fact that Posy got naggy if he didn't have dinner with the family, especially now that Rory was working past dinnertime.

Considering the circumstances, though, he thought this took priority. He was anxious, he'd been biting people's heads off left and right at work, and he was sure his family wouldn't appreciate his dark mood anyway. In order to be at ease, he had to know what was going on with Katniss. So as soon as he got off work, he made his way (soot and all) to the Mayor's house.

Because it was summer, it was still light out, and the sunshine reflected off the windows of the tall house. How nice it must be, he reflected, to have a house that not only wasn't falling apart, but also _shone_ with the sun. He rolled his eyes to himself as he neared the porch. Funnily enough, this was probably the first time he'd walked up to the front door of the Undersee home. Usually when he and Katniss sold them strawberries, they handled their business through the back door.

He rang the doorbell, and it took about a minute for someone to get the door. It was the maid, of course. An older woman, older than his mother at least; her appearance indicated she was from the Seam-- she had the dark hair and gray eyes-- and he thought he might've seen her around a few times, but he didn't really know her. "Yes?" she asked him, somewhere between surprised and curious. He guessed it wasn't a very common occurrence to find a miner knocking at the Undersees' front door.

"Uh, I need to speak to Madge," he stated, more than asked, in a way he hoped didn't sound awkward. It felt weird to call the Undersee girl by her name; he always called her "the Mayor's daughter" but he guessed that wouldn't fly very well in her own home.

The woman's lips drew into a line, not like she was angry but slightly reproachful, and for a moment it reminded Gale of his mother when she would pull at his ear when he was a child whenever he forgot to say _please_. "She's not home from work yet," she replied, her slight disapproval melting into a kind of somewhat-amused neutrality. "Maybe if you come back later you'll find her," she suggested. "Or perhaps tomorrow morning," she added, probably implying that it wouldn't be polite for him to visit at nighttime.

Gale wasn't exactly concerned with being polite, and he simply couldn't wait until the next day to know what was happening. He would have to come back after dinner. "Fine. I'll stop by later," he let her know. As he turned to walk down the porch steps, though, he saw that Madge Undersee herself was coming through the gate.

"That's okay, I'm here," she said, quite unnecessarily as he had already seen her. She closed the gate behind her with her foot. She couldn't use her hands, because her arms were full of folders and files. She was carrying what looked like a heavy amount of paperwork. She looked past him and at her maid. "I'll take him from here, Grethel. Thanks." He could only guess the older woman had nodded, because he heard the front door close behind him a moment later.

"This may sound surprising but I work about the same amount of hours you do," she commented as she came down the path and up to the base of the porch steps. He almost snorted at her poor attempt to commiserate with him; sure, spending twelve hours sitting in a cushy office was almost the same thing as spending twelve hours inside a dark, constricting tunnel that could cave in at any second. He managed to keep the sarcastic remark to himself, though; he hadn't come here to argue.

He walked down the three steps to meet her; if she wanted to have this conversation outside that was fine with him, and he'd rather not stand on the too-pristine porch if he didn't have to. "My father's still at the office," she continued the same line of conversation. Gale wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying. "Now that the Games are starting, there's a lot more paperwork to go through. But I wanted to come home so my mother wouldn't have to eat dinner alone," she explained.

"But," she readjusted her hold on the mountain of papers she carried in her arms, "I still have homework," she added, with a small smile. A breeze blew by them and a few strands of her blond hair fell in her face; she was holding most of it back at the nape of her head with a pencil, he noticed, but obviously the hold wasn't strong enough. Since her hands were otherwise occupied she shook her head a couple times to get the offending strands out of the way.

Gale wasn't the type for small talk, nor did he really care if her hair was in place or not, so he just decided to ask what he came to ask and get it over with. "Have you heard anything about Katniss?"

For a second she seemed almost surprised he was asking. "No," she answered, frowning slightly. "But it's been less than a day," she hurried to explain. "It takes longer than that to get to the Capitol. They're probably still in the train." She shook her head. "I'd like to think no news is good news."

No news did not sit well with him. "Are you sure?" he insisted. "There's _gotta_ be a way we can know something. I mean, if something went wrong, surely the Mayor would be informed. Right?" He had to know what was going on, if they'd been found out. He was going out of his mind with worry.

"Yes, he would," she said, very slowly, like she was being really careful about what she said. "But that would be classified information," she asserted. "I don't have access to that."

"Figures," he muttered under his breath. It wasn't a stretch to think that the Mayor's office routinely withheld information from the population. That was the Capitol's way of working, controlling every single piece of knowledge and editing every truth just like they edited the footage of the Games, because that's the best way to keep the districts inferior, subjugate, powerless. He knew all of that already. But having it indirectly confirmed by the Mayor's daughter still managed to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

She seemed to notice. "What?" she asked, a little defensive, lowering her voice as she took a step closer to him.

"There's gotta be something you can do, though," he said, reducing the volume of his voice as well. It wasn't safe to discuss this topic out in the open, any more than it would be inside the Mayor's house. They both knew they had to be careful. "Don't you handle all your father's documents and stuff?"

She looked up at him sharply. He'd never interacted with this girl outside their strawberry transactions, and even then Katniss did most of the talking, but this was an expression he recognized. Sometimes when he couldn't hold back a snide remark, she would look a bit unsure whether she should be alarmed or offended. And then she would issue a bland response, all politeness and good manners. This time it was anything but bland. "Are you asking me to break into my father's files?" she asked him, definitely leaning more toward the offended side now.

He thought that was rich. She was so concerned about looking into a couple documents when just yesterday she'd been giving out information about train schedules and Capitol visitors? He knew they couldn't trust her. "You wouldn't do it for Katniss? I thought you were her friend."

She pressed her lips together tightly, like she was trying to keep herself from blowing up at him. She was getting angry, but still wouldn't let herself show it. "Listen," she started, attempting to sound conciliatory, but still coming across a little short. "I want to help her as much as you do, but it's not as easy as sneaking a folder out of the office and reading its contents. Unless it's on the paper or they air it on the closed-circuit system, I have no way of knowing," she explained. Gale had no idea what "closed-circuit system" even meant. "And I haven't exactly been home to check if anything's aired," she added, once again pointing to the huge block of paperwork she was carrying that she had yet to put down because she hadn't even made it into her house yet.

"I'm sorry, but I just don't have access." She stressed the last three words noticeably. "The most I can do is keep my eyes and ears open around the office. If something happens, Dad might even let me know himself." She turned her eyes away from him and to the side, and it was only then that he noticed how close they really were standing. "And I'd appreciate it if you stopped trying to make my father into one of the bad guys."

_Well, he works for the bad guys, doesn't he?_ the thought rose unbidden in his mind. But as much as he was in the mood to argue, he hadn't come here for this. This visit was about Katniss. "Fine, you do that," he snapped at her. "Meanwhile, we just sit here and wait for something to go wrong? There has to be something we can do."

Something in his words seemed to give her pause. She was still looking down, brows furrowing a little, as if in deep thought. "What?" it was his turn to ask.

Her eyes snapped back to him, a renewed energy in her eyes. "There might be one thing," she sentenced, then hurriedly walked past him and onto the porch steps. She signaled with her head for him to follow her, and he had no choice but to do so, since she wouldn't tell him what she was talking about. In fact, other than to tell him to take off his boots before he entered the house, she didn't really speak at all.

He took in the house as she dropped the files she was carrying on the dining table. The house was big; the living and dining room, which together were really one big room, were bigger than his entire house was. Everything was really well-lit, both by the light coming in from the big windows, and from a series of elaborate sconces in the walls that bathed the room in warm tones as the sun went down outside.

The floors were dark hardwood, polished, which contrasted against the white of the walls, and the furniture as well. Even the piano was white. Everything was so white, it almost seemed like whoever had decorated the place was protesting against coal. He kept to the foyer, almost afraid to touch anything. Admittedly the house wasn't as extravagant as he'd expected-- it was orderly, spacious and nicely-decorated, but it couldn't compare with images he'd seen of the Capitol-- but everything was obviously expensive, and he didn't want to mess anything up and have to pay for it.

To the back of the room, behind the dining table where Undersee was standing and to the side of a big cabinet where they stored fancy plates, there was a door which, he guessed, led to the kitchen, and maybe a laundry room; he'd never really bothered to see what was back there when him and Katniss walked up to the back door to sell berries. To the left there was a set of stairs leading to the second floor. That's where the family's bedrooms were, probably, and maybe even in the third floor as well. They had to have a few extra bedrooms; he knew people from the Capitol sometimes stayed there when they visited Twelve.

He saw her walk around the table to the back door and take a peek on the other side. Then she made her way to the stairs and glanced up, like she was trying to see if anyone was walking around up there. She was acting like Rory and Vick used to when they were younger, and would play spy games. It made him wonder what the heck she was doing. Besides wasting his time, that is.

She motioned for him to follow her as she went up the stairs and he did, still feeling irritated that she wouldn't tell him what she was up to. When he made it to the second floor he noticed there were four doors, all closed. She stopped in front of one of the middle doors and reached into the right pocket of her gray pants to pull out a small set of keys. She used one to open the door.

She led him into a room that was obviously a study. The back wall was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, filled with books and folders of all shapes and sizes. In front of it was a sturdy cherry wood desk, with a stiff, dark chair Gale thought would probably be uncomfortable. Beside the one window there was a potted plant, some sort of tallish leafy thing he was pretty sure was not natural to the area. Right beside the door there were three file cabinets, and to the right, in the wall directly opposite the desk, there were a few more bookshelves, and a flat television screen mounted on the wall.

She closed the door behind the both of them as he inspected the room. "I thought you said you weren't going to do this," he said, referring to his previous idea of her snooping through her father's secret Capitol business. Considering her previous paranoia, she was probably worried someone in the house might overhear, so he decided to be careful with his wording. Walls were thin in District Twelve.

She shook her head. "I'm not," she told him, seeming to understand what he meant. "We're going to use the phone." She walked up to the desk and started opening and closing drawers like she was looking for something. "I was just thinking that there's nothing we can do while they're on the way, but maybe we can prepare things for when they get there." She finally found this elusive object, which she lifted so he could see it: a small, forest green, leather-bound address book. "We're going to call Mr. Abernathy."

Gale had to admit he was caught off guard by this. He would bet there was not one person in the district who would think of Haymitch Abernathy as someone to go to in case they needed help. The man might be their only living victor, but he was sullen, reclusive, disgusting, and a drunk. It was a miracle he hadn't yet died of some sort of liver condition after almost thirty years of seemingly living off nothing but booze.

Still, he was the tributes' mentor, and would be directly responsible for Prim during the course of the Games. If Katniss wanted to save Prim from the Games, chances were high she would have to make contact with Abernathy. And only the Mayor could communicate with Abernathy without suspicion; it was his office that handled money transfers to the Capitol whenever the people in the district actually managed to raise a little something to help sponsor the tributes. He didn't say it aloud, but it was a good idea on Undersee's part.

He leaned against the edge of the desk, trying not to touch any of the Mayor's things, as she readied the phone for the call. He looked at the things that were on the desk. The Mayor didn't leave anything sensitive out: there was a calendar, two empty trays (labeled "in" and "out"), a pen holder with three pens in it, and a few picture frames. The one closest to him held a photo of Madge at around five or six; her blonde hair was up in two pigtails, and as she was smiling widely at the camera, he could see she was missing her two front teeth. He could see why the Mayor would like that picture; part of him wanted Posy to always remain that energetic five-year-old who thought clinging to his leg was the best way to move around the house. He could relate.

Finally the phone started ringing. She had set it up so the sound would come out through the speakers instead of the earpiece, that way they could both hear what was said on the other side. "Don't say anything," she warned him to stay quiet.

The phone rang three, four more times before someone finally picked it up. "Starting early this year, princess?" The voice on the other side of the line was clearly male, and from the slurring there was no doubt in Gale's mind it was indeed Abernathy. "We just got here a few hours ago."

He saw her roll her eyes-- whether that was because of the nickname or the fact that the guys was obviously drunk off his ass, he didn't know. "Actually, I'm not calling about sponsorship this time," she started. The familiarity in the conversation told Gale she had probably been handling sponsorship calls in place of her father for the past few years, just as she'd been overseeing train schedules. "I was just wondering if maybe there's a way someone could observe the mentoring process. Maybe even help?" she input, a little hesitantly.

The direct response on the other side was a snort. "You vying for an internship?" Abernathy asked, sarcasm clear even through slurred words. "I'm afraid we're not offering this year. Even for the daughter of the Mayor of district Twelve." He said this last phrase in the tone one would use to say a very, very important title. It made Gale frown; as many scornful remarks as he'd thrown Undersee's way in the past, he'd never quite made "the Mayor's daughter" sound that much like an insult. Hearing it from Abernathy now almost made him feel bad for being rude to her.

She didn't seem to have a problem with it, though. Maybe she was giving him a pass because he was under the influence, or maybe she was just that focused on getting the message across to the man. Either way, she continued on as if he hadn't said anything. "No, see, I have this friend," she said. A second later she seemed to realize how weak that sounded and she looked at Gale with a cringe. He couldn't help but agree. But it was done now. "She really wants to help. If she could..."

Before she could make anymore arguments, Abernathy's gruff voice came through the line again, interrupting her. "Listen, I have two kids to mentor and a lot of free liquor to drink, so I don't have time for this." There was a loud click, and then the dial tone. The jerk had hung up on them.

She stared down at the phone, openmouthed. In any other situation he might've found her expression hilarious. "Well, that was helpful," he muttered, conveniently forgetting that just a little while ago he'd thought it was a good idea.

She seemed absolutely dismayed when she raised her eyes to his. "I-- I'm sorry," she stammered, a bit wide-eyed, halfway between disbelief and embarrassment. "I really thought it could work..."

"Yeah, well, I'm just gonna go now," he said in a final tone, signaling to the door. It was true that he'd been the one to come here to begin with, but she was the one who pulled him into the house, and now he'd hit his daily quota of standing awkwardly around while other people took action. He had to get home, anyway; his family was waiting for him.

She nodded and mutely led him out of the study, once again repeating the routine of checking the hallway and stairs to make sure they didn't run into anybody on their way out. All the doors on the second floor were still closed, and it seemed the maid was still busy in the kitchen, so they made it down to the front door with little fanfare. To him, that was strange; at his home, you couldn't even take a step without stepping on someone. He briefly wondered if it was just that this house was so big you could walk from side to side without coming across another person, or if the people who lived here just weren't interested in interacting with each other.

She stood to the side as he laced up his boots and reclaimed his hard hat and gloves. He walked down the three porch steps in only two, and standing on the path to the main gate he turned to look at her. She seemed distraught, brow furrowed, arms wrapped around her torso. Truth be told, he wasn't feeling too good himself at that point; this whole enterprise had been a bust, and all he was left with was the distinct feeling that there was nothing they could do from here to help Prim and Katniss. But he could recognize it wasn't her fault.

"Let me know if you hear anything at the office," he told her, remembering her offer from earlier about keeping her eyes and ears open for any information.

She looked at him, seemingly surprised he'd spoken, but then she nodded. With nothing else to say he turned back to walk down the path and out the gate, his feet automatically leading him in the direction of the Seam. He could only hope Posy wouldn't be too mad at him for being late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm trying to do this thing where Gale, because he's a little older and presumably more mature, isn't as snippy with people (in this case Madge) as he is in the books. But he's still supposed to be... curt. If that makes any sense. -sigh- Is it working? I don't even know. =/ Oh, Gale. I wouldn't love you half as much if you weren't so hard to write...
> 
> Also, I've taken a bit of liberty with the timeline of the Games, as you'll start to see in this chapter. In the books, the trip from Twelve to the Capitol takes less than a day, because they have super-duper technology and whatever. Because of plot demands, I need to make it a little longer than that in this fic.
> 
> The Amtrak website helpfully let me know that a trip from Charleston, West Virginia (which is close to where D12 is located in my headcanon) to Denver, Colorado (which is where the Capitol is) takes about 40-ish hours at our current level of technology. Recognizing that technology has advanced by the time Panem rolls around, I'm going to say for the purposes of this fic, the trip is going to take about 30-34 hours, depending on whether or not there are stops on the way. A day and a half, if you want to round up.
> 
> If you liked this chapter, or just want to laugh at me for my ridiculous nerdy tendencies, please leave a review! Actually, the best reason to review this time is that it might make me update sooner-- the next chapter is FINALLY a Peeta PoV, you guys! You've all been asking for that! =D LOL. And believe me, it's one you don't want to miss. Stuff happens. -totally unsubtle hint- ;)


	12. Peeta: Forward Motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 12: Forward motion_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.
> 
> **Note 2:** Spot the _Breakfast Club_ reference! xD

Peeta felt someone shake him awake. "What is it?" he mumbled as he straightened up his back against the wood. It didn't feel like he'd been sleeping that long, but his body, which spent the past couple hours in a highly uncomfortable position, begged to differ.

"We've stopped," came Katniss' voice in the darkness, barely above a whisper. Through the last traces of somnolence he realized that, indeed, the train wasn't moving anymore; there was no screeching of metal on metal, their wooden box was no longer rattling. They listened intently for a little while (well, he could only guess Katniss was listening intently as well) and soon enough they started hearing loud mechanical noises-- a forklift. "We have to get out of here," Katniss said. He didn't need to be told twice.

They could only hope the coal delivery was automated, even though import deliveries weren't in District Twelve. Still, Peacekeepers were bound to be watchful by procedure in case of stops. Just as a precaution, they made sure to time the hammering with the sounds of the forklift, and the machinery thankfully drowned out the noise.

They lifted the lid and peeked out, trying to assess what they were dealing with. It was pitch black outside, probably around two or three in the morning. There were no signs letting them know where they were, but they were surrounded by crop fields; probably District Eleven? They weren't at a train station proper, but a small railway stop, which could barely be called a warehouse. It was nothing more than a platform surrounded by corrugated metallic walls and roof. There was one forklift unloading the boxes from the train and dropping them on the platform. It wasn't automated; there was a dark-skinned, tired-looking man driving the machine. No sign of Peacekeepers yet.

They got out of their hiding place on the opposite side and kept cover behind the yet-to-be-unloaded boxes. Peeta's heart was beating like crazy; he was holding the hammer's handle so tightly, his knuckles were going white. They were going to try and make it to the dining compartment, as it was the only one guaranteed to be empty until morning. As far as Madge had been able to tell them, it held a small kitchenette, a few eating booths, but most of the space was occupied by stored food. It was their best bet to remain hidden as long as possible.

He was about to ask Katniss which car held the dining compartment, but before he could, she stopped abruptly. Before he could ask what was wrong she was pushing him up onto a train car again, so they could hide between two stacks of coal boxes. He carefully poked his head out to look over her shoulder, and saw what they were hiding from: two Peacekeepers, patrolling by the tracks near the front of the train. If they had kept walking, they would've been found out, no doubt about it.

When the Peacekeepers moved to the other side of the train, Katniss saw fit to leave their hiding place again. "I'm going to see if we can clear a path," she let him know, still whispering urgently. "You stay here. I'll let you know if you can come up."

"You shouldn't go by yourself," he argued back. After all, wasn't that why he'd come with her, so she wouldn't have to take the risk alone? He couldn't just let her walk up to the Peacekeepers without someone to watch her back.

She shook her head. "You're making too much noise. They might hear you," she said, her attention half on him and half on the Peacekeepers' movements around the train.

He frowned. "I didn't even say anything before," he replied, not understanding what she meant.

"Your steps," she explained, sounding a little frustrated that she had to explain it at all. "Your steps are too heavy. Normally it's not that bad, but we're walking on gravel now, so it's louder." Now that was something he'd never heard before. His steps were too loud? That hunter's hearing he'd wondered about sometimes was even sharper than he thought. She looked out one more time to make sure the coast was clear. "Stay here until I tell you to move." And with that, she got off the car and started moving toward the front of the train, as close to the rails as possible.

He made sure to watch her as she went, just in case. Part of him was bothered from being called _loud_ of all things-- Gale Hawthorne was probably lighter on his feet despite being taller, he thought somewhat bitterly-- but there was really no time for him to feel offended about something so silly. If his staying hidden while she scouted the area made their chances better, then he was all up for it.

It felt like it took Katniss an eternity to reach the end of the coal cars. She ducked between it and the first passenger car, which caused her to be obscured from his view. He tried not to be anxious that she wasn't in his line of sight anymore, but it was hard to push down the nervousness. Especially as the minutes ticked by and he didn't hear back from her. Five minutes. Ten minutes...

After fifteen minutes, he was sure something had gone wrong. The forklift had parked to one side, its driver getting off and walking away without ceremony. That meant all the coal meant for this stop was unloaded already, and _that_ meant the train would be departing soon. But there was still no sign of Katniss anywhere.

He couldn't just stay on the train without knowing if she was on board as well, if she was alright, so he decided to take action despite her instructions. He quickly got off the car and made his way in the direction she'd taken. He walked slowly and tried to make his steps as light as he could, though he had no way of knowing if his caution made any difference. Unfortunately for him, though, he only made it about two cars down when the train started to move.

The acceleration was slow at first, so he tried to keep up. But then he heard an exclamation on the other side of the train-- "Hey! Stop there!"-- and he knew all his effort to be stealthy had gone down the drain in a second. He took off at a run, only looking back once to see that two Peacekeepers were running after him about fifty or fifty-five feet behind. He pushed his legs as hard as they would go, hoping he could reach the passenger compartments before the Peacekeepers reached him. If he could just grab onto a railing he could hoist himself back onto the train before it outpaced him.

In the distance he saw the side-door to the second passenger cart open unexpectedly and he was surprised to see Katniss walk out onto the small deck, safe and sound, but still too far away for him to reach her. The moment she saw him she tensed, and quicker than lightning she had her bow at the ready, arrow in place and ready to strike in his direction.

In the motor car, which was currently behind Katniss since she was looking at him, he saw the side door open again and a Peacekeeper walked out, much like Katniss had. There was no way he could miss her. "Katniss! Behind you!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, warning her of the impending danger.

"Peeta, get down!" she shouted back, her mouth close to her hand as it pulled back string and arrow, about to let it fly. The yelling had apparently woken up some of the passengers, as the inside of the cars closer to the front illuminated. One car down from the one Katniss was standing in, a woman poked her head out a window. But there was no time to think about that: Katniss fired the shot, and even from such a large distance Peeta barely had time to drop to the ground as the arrow flew toward him, a couple inches over where his head would've been a second ago, and embedded itself straight in the closest Peacekeeper's neck. The man dropped like a rag doll.

The momentum Peeta had built up by running meant he skidded, more than fell, over the gravel at his feet. His knees, forearms and hand were scrapped and it stung, but he couldn't spare a minute to cringe in pain. He got to his feet and started to run all over again. The second Peacekeeper was gaining up on him fast.

As he ran he saw Katniss had turned right around and shot at the Peacekeeper behind her before he could even get a hold of his rifle. Then she immediately disappeared toward the opposite side of the car, for some reason. The body fell off the car and tumbled to the side of the tracks, unmoving. Peeta didn't look at it as he passed by. He finally reached the last passenger compartment and grabbing with all his strength onto the back railing, he tried to pull himself up.

Just as he got both his feet onto the deck, he felt someone pulling him back down by his backpack. The other Peacekeeper had finally caught up with him; the man was still down by the tracks, running to keep up with the moving train, but as Peeta wasn't quite balanced on the car either, it wouldn't take much for both of them to go tumbling down onto the gravel. So he wrapped his left arm as steadily as he could around two railing bars, and with his right arm he swung the hammer down with all the strength he could muster.

The heavy tool hit the junction of the Peacekeeper's neck and jaw with a horrifying crack, making his helmet fly off his head, and then the resultant inertia pushed the man harshly against the railing. Peeta felt the grip on the backpack go slack, but the man's other hand was practically woven onto the railing just as Peeta's was, and as he faded out of consciousness and gravity began pulling at him, his torso and legs dragged off the side of the train leaving a trail of darkened gravel because of the blood. When the body finally fell, his head hit Peeta on the arm and caused him to drop the hammer. By now the train was moving too fast for him to be able to get it back.

The weak lights of the railway stop had faded out of view a few minutes previous, but even in the darkness, the white of the Peacekeeper's uniform stood out to him as the train sped away. That heap of flesh and fabric on the side of the tracks was a man, he thought. A man he'd killed. And if he had to, for Katniss, he would do it again. But no matter how sick the thought made him, he couldn't dwell on it. He had to find Katniss, she might be in danger.

He righted himself up on the deck. He didn't make it very far, though, as at that moment the back door opened and he was grabbed, arms at his back, by a huge man. He tried to free himself, but he'd lost his only weapon and the man's hold restricted his movements completely. Peeta considered himself a fairly strong person, but as much as he pushed and struggled, he couldn't make this guy even budge.

"Let me go!" he exclaimed as the man started pushing him inside the compartment. "We don't want to hurt anybody, we're just trying to get to the Capitol!" he tried. This man didn't look like a Peacekeeper. He was burly, but wasn't wearing a uniform, and as far as Peeta knew he carried no weapons. But the man remained completely silent even then.

Inside the passenger car, they walked down a narrow, brightly lit, carpeted corridor. To the right, floor to ceiling, there were sliding panels of some kind of opaque plastic material, behind which, he guessed, was a bedroom of sorts. He didn't get a good look at it, as he was pushed all the way down the corridor, out the other door and then onto the next passenger car, which was exactly the same as the one they'd walked through, only the bedroom was to the left side.

When the cabin door slammed behind them, a man poked his head out of the bedroom. "What's going on?" He walked out to meet them. Peeta thought the man could be slightly older than him. He was slim, and was wearing a colorful set of pajamas made out of fabric which looked soft and shiny; the top had big lapels in a bright fuchsia color. He had several sets of earrings in both ears. "I was just in my bed and I heard a ruckus. Was that him?" he asked, pointing at Peeta. Now he could see his tongue was pierced, and he wore a stud with an embedded crystal which shone when he spoke. "Is he trying to rob us?"

The man that held him trapped said nothing, and Peeta was about to speak up to argue his innocence, but in that moment, the opposite door opened and Katniss was pushed into the car, bucking frantically to try and get away from the grip of a man who looked an awful lot like his own captor. They were probably related. "I caught this one trying to run past my compartment," the man holding Katniss said, in a deep voice. "She had a bow and arrows."

Katniss stilled in the man's grip the moment she saw Peeta, anxiety written in her eyes. He could almost see her running through scenarios in her head, trying to think of an escape plan. But short of killing these people-- Capitol citizens, made obvious by their appearance-- there wasn't much they could do. And they were both out of weapons.

The door behind Katniss opened again (pushing her and her captor further into the cabin and closer to Peeta and the other two men) and a woman, the one he had seen before at the window, walked in. She looked to be in her late twenties, perhaps early thirties. She had bright green facial tattoos twirling up her neck, on her cheeks and up to her temples, to make it seem like vines were crawling up her body. Her short hair, which was the same green color, was styled up so that it looked like spikes were poking out of her head, completing the plant illusion.

"Don't let her go," she said in the direction of the man closest to her, almost like an order. She walked down the corridor quickly and came to stand in front of Katniss, arms crossed, her back to Peeta. "That shot, when you saved the boy from the Peacekeeper," he heard her say. "That was almost 90 yards," she finished the thought, and Peeta thought she sounded almost in disbelief. "That's over Olympic distance."

Peeta didn't know what "Olympic" meant, and he guessed Katniss probably didn't either, but if she was confused at all, she didn't show it. Her expression remained serious, unyielding, especially as the woman started asking questions. "Who are you?" Katniss kept quiet, and he knew why: the less these people knew about them, the less chance there was the Capitol would punish District Twelve, or Prim.

The woman did not appreciate the silence. "There's a telephone in the motor car," she said. "I could always make a call and report you for killing four Peacekeepers." Peeta knew he was responsible for one death, and he saw Katniss shoot two men; maybe she killed a third one while he couldn't see her. "They'll have a squad waiting for you as soon as we get to the Capitol."

Katniss still wouldn't budge. That's when things started to get rough: the man that was holding her pulled at her arms a little harder, making her position even more uncomfortable. She kept silent, wouldn't even let out a groan, but Peeta could see from her face the hold was painful.

He grew alarmed. These were Capitol people, after all; the same people who cheered at the carnage of the Hunger Games like it was an entertaining spectacle. He wouldn't put it past them to hurt her if she wasn't cooperative. He had to think of something, and quick. "Please don't hurt my wife!" he blurted out; it was the first thing that crossed his mind at the moment. Everybody in the car turned to look at him, Katniss in particular with a shocked expression, but she didn't say anything to contradict him. It meant a lot to him. He hated doing this without warning her in advance, but he truly believed if these people wanted a back story, it was better to give them one.

The green-haired woman walked closer to him, eyes narrowed. "She's your wife, then?" she asked.

He nodded. "Her name's Katniss. I'm Peeta. We're from District Twelve." He could see Katniss bristle that he'd actually given them their real names, but he felt he had to give it a grain of truth to make it believable. "We didn't mean to hurt anyone, we just didn't want to get caught. Things in Twelve are tough, we just can't make enough money and we thought if we could go somewhere else we might have a better life."

"I can't blame you, that place is a dump," the guy with the pink lapels muttered, presumably under his breath, but everybody heard him clearly. Peeta wasn't surprised; whenever outsiders visited the district-- usually camera crews during the Games, to conduct interviews with the tributes' families or to get footage for introductory videos-- their disgust with the place was obvious. No doubt it was a world away from the grandeur they were accustomed to in the Capitol.

The woman ignored the comment. "If you didn't want to hurt anybody, why the bow?"

"Katniss is a hunter," he explained, remembering a second later that she might get in trouble for it. "She doesn't have to at home because I own a bakery," he qualified, trying to fix his mistake, "but she knows how. We figured if we ran out of food on the way, we could always hunt something." He was hopeful: the three men, at least, looked like they were buying his story. "If we can ride with you to the Capitol, we promise you'll never hear from us again. All we want is to get away."

The woman looked at him, eyes narrowed, thoughtful. Every once in a while she would sneak a glance at Katniss, who met it with her own determined stare, and then back at him. She seemed to be calculating every detail he had given her. Finally, she turned to the man who was holding Katniss: "I think we can use them," she sentenced. Peeta didn't like how that sounded, but if it meant not being immediately reported to the Capitol, he could wait to find out what that meant. "Let them go," she instructed, also signaling the man who was holding him. "They can come with us to the Capitol."

The man released him, and Peeta's hands immediately went to his forearms, which tingled uncomfortably from lack of blood flow. Katniss was released as well, and she immediately moved closer to him. "What do you mean 'use us'? For what?" she asked, the first thing she had said since they got caught, but evidently she was not as cautiously optimistic about their chances with these people as he was.

Now it was the green-haired woman's turn to play coy with the answers. She turned to the slim man and pointed to the bedroom right beside them. "You don't mind if they sleep with you, right? Bring them to the dining compartment in the morning. We'll talk there."

"Can I have my bow back? It was my father's," Katniss interrupted, tense, before the man could reply. Peeta was surprised she'd actually told them the truth about the bow-- she must've figured out why he'd taken that approach in the first place. She was also rubbing at her forearms gingerly. She might have bruises in the morning; he knew from experience.

"You'll get it back in the morning," the woman said, and turned to walk out the cabin through the same door she'd used to come in. The two burly men who had been restraining them turned to walk past them (it was a little too close for comfort in the narrow corridor) and walked out through the opposite door.

The man in the colorful pajamas turned to them. "Don't kill me in my sleep," he said, though he didn't really sound scared at all, more like resigned. To Peeta that just showed how self-centered Capitol people were. But they were letting them off and giving them a place to sleep-- a bed was decidedly more comfortable than a small wooden box-- so he kept his comments to himself.

The guy signaled for them to follow them into the bedroom. "You can sleep here," he said, pointing to the lower bed, which was double-sized. "Normally I get the room to myself, because the boss gets the single compartment," he added, pointing in the direction the green-haired woman had left, "but I guess now I have to share with you two." He signaled to the top bed, which could only accommodate one person, as the place where he would be sleeping. "And please, no funny business during the night, you'll make my bed rattle."

This comment prompted Peeta to look at Katniss and, though it took her a moment, he knew exactly when the meaning behind it finally hit her. She went completely red, and personally he thought the rosy tone in her cheeks looked lovely against her olive skin tone. He had to keep himself from laughing at her flustered expression.

Thankfully, the man didn't wait around to see her react to his comment, and he didn't see her caught off guard. He walked to the side and through another sliding door to a smaller alcove adjacent to the one they were in, which Peeta thought might be a restroom. Katniss moved closer to him, making sure to whisper so the man couldn't overhear them; the plastic room divisions were pretty thin. "Can you believe this guy?" she complained, clearly still upset over the inappropriate comment.

"Guess he really treasures his sleep," he quipped, earning a glare from Katniss, which only amused him more. "You okay?" he asked, meaning her arms and shoulders. She assured him she was fine. "Good. Alright then, you can take the bed and I'll sleep on the floor."

"Don't be stupid," she snapped at him, with something of a frown. "He'll notice if we sleep apart. We're supposed to be married."

It felt a little surreal that she was basically telling him they'd have to sleep together. In the same bed, that is. With _Katniss_. As much as he had dreamed about sleeping beside her, he'd never imagined it would happen under these circumstances. And if he knew her at all, he knew she couldn't be comfortable with it. "Are you sure?"

"It's fine. It's not much worse than the box," she said, and he thought it funny; hadn't he just been thinking a few minutes ago that a bed was a step up? He knew what she meant, though: she'd keep to her side, and he'd keep to his side, and that way they'd make the best out of an already awkward situation.

He dropped the backpack, which he'd miraculously held onto through this whole thing, at the foot of the bed, then took off his shoes, while Katniss took off her jacket. "I'm sorry about making up this whole marriage thing," he let her know. "I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that. I just thought it would help."

"It did help," she admitted as she folded her jacket and left it in a corner of the bed. He didn't know the story behind the hunting jacket, but seeing the care she took as she folded it, he guessed it had something to do with her father, like her bow. "You're good at convincing people. I never could've pulled it off." She pulled back the covers and signaled for him to get in.

He cleared his throat, still a little ill at ease. He had to ask one last time. "You're not mad?"

"No. Unless you snore, of course."

He could swear his heart stopped for a minute there. Had Katniss Everdeen just made a _joke_? She had sat down on the corner of the bed to unlace her boots, so he couldn't see her face, but he knew he hadn't heard her wrong. Just when he thought he had her figured out, she surprised him yet again.

When she was done with her boots, he saw her grab the backpack and pull something out of one of the front pockets. She leaned forward, resting her forearms down on her knees as she stared at the object in her hand: a small, circular pin made of gold, in the shape of a bird. He remembered seeing the accessory pinned to Prim's dress when he went to say goodbye to her. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Katniss was thinking of. "We'll get to her," he tried to reassure her.

She shook her head, and for a moment he thought that was a reply to his comment. He was about to insist, but she spoke up before he could get a word in. "I don't like this," she said, tilting her face up to look at him, serious. "I don't trust these people."

He knew she didn't. He wasn't sure about any of this either, but right now they really had no choice but to keep the ruse up. No matter their intentions, these guys could take them as far as the Capitol; if they had to, they'd break away from these people then. He didn't know how, but they'd find a way. All he knew was that he wouldn't let anything happen to Katniss. "I know," he admitted, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the plastic sliding panel. "But just... trust _me_."

She stared at him for what felt like a long time, and he let her. Those calculating, sharp eyes of hers, sometimes he felt like she could see right through him. He wondered if she could, because he had no idea what she was thinking most of the time. But asking Katniss Everdeen for her trust was no small request, and if she needed time to make up her mind then he would give it to her.

After a moment she took a deep breath and, breaking their gaze with a light, almost imperceptible nod, put the golden pin back in the pocket of the backpack. She stood up and signaled for him to take the side of the bunk that was closest to the back wall. Hoping that was a positive response, he got into the bed, making himself comfortable, not that it took too much effort with soft fabric and fluffy pillows.

She got in beside him, the bed wide enough for a chaste few inches of separation between their bodies. Pulling the covers on top of them, she closed her eyes and promptly turned on her side, her back to him, her long, dark braid resting in the space between them.

He longed to touch it, just the end of it, to know if it would feel soft between his fingers. But he knew he couldn't do that, not without crossing a line. Instead, he mumbled a "good night" she didn't reciprocate, and turned toward the compartment wall, his descent into sleep plagued with the thought that... yeah, he'd never imagined things happening quite this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two short comments this time:
> 
> 1\. The distance used for the archery competitions at the Olympics is 70 meters, or approximately 77.6 yards. Just thought it was a neat piece of trivia.
> 
> 2\. Recognize any familiar faces, guys? ;) Review if you do, or you know what, review even if you don't! See ya next chapter.


	13. Katniss: Go With It Now, Deal With It Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 13: Go with it now, deal with it later_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.
> 
> **Note 2:** Spot the Cranberries lyrics! xD

The room was thankfully left empty during the dinner rush, so Katniss took a moment to sit down and think about things. Everything had been happening so quickly, she felt like she was pushed from one side to the other before she even had a chance to react.

She sat on the edge of one of the beds, the one that had been assigned to her, and opened up a pocket on her backpack, pulling out the mockingjay pin. She didn't know where Prim had gotten it from, she'd never seen it before the day of the Reaping, but somehow in the midst of everything she'd been through in the past two days, in her mind the pin had become a symbol of her promise to Prim, that one promise she made the last time she saw her sister, that she'd get her out of this, out of the Games.

That promise weighed in her mind now more than ever. It was eating at her that Prim was somewhere in the building, but she couldn't get to her.

She could barely string together the sequence of events that led her and Peeta to the tributes' Training Center. It all felt so surreal. When Gale had first presented this plan and they had agreed, they were all aware their chances of actually making it to the Capitol were slim. Yet here they were now.

She had gotten a good few hours of sleep, despite everything. After the early morning scare and her lack of rest for the past 48 hours, she'd crashed quickly. When she woke up to the sound of someone shuffling around in the room, it was almost ten in the morning, which was usually unthinkable for her. Waking up at ten to her meant a whole morning wasted. Their Capitol roommate seemed to think it was just the right time to start their day, however, and he greeted her with a smile when he noticed her eyes were open.

The man reminded her it was time for breakfast as he busied himself rearranging clothes in his luggage. It took her a moment to sleepily situate herself-- she was in a train, heading to the Capitol; they had been discovered by a camera crew and made to spend the night in one of the passenger compartments. And Peeta was sleeping behind her.

_Right_ behind her, actually; he must've moved during the night, or maybe she had, because his front was now directly pressing against her back. She could feel his even breath on the back of her neck-- he was still asleep-- and one of his arms was loosely resting around her torso, almost like he was cradling her to him. It immediately made her feel strange; she'd never slept in the same bed with anyone but Prim, so she didn't know what to think of it, but she couldn't push away abruptly because the Capitol man was standing right in front of them and that would be suspicious.

Taking advantage of the fact that they were expected for breakfast, she carefully removed Peeta's arm from around her and got off the bed. The movement woke Peeta up, and he received a similar greeting from the other man as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. As he replied distractedly she saw him look at her, apparently realizing their position from just a minute ago, but she quickly made her way to the restroom before he could say anything.

Despite the awkward start to the morning, she'd managed to get some rest during those few hours of sleep. Her doubts, fears and anxiety about Prim hadn't clawed at her in her dreams like they had the night before. She figured it was probably because she'd slept on a comfortable bed, for once.

The Capitol man, whom she'd come to know was called Messalla, led them to the dining compartment. The two large men who had restrained them before were already there, much more amenable than the previous night. One of them, Castor, explained their options for breakfast while his brother, Pollux, helped Peeta reheat the food. Pollux was an Avox, Castor explained to them: the Capitol deemed him a traitor or a criminal, and he was sentenced to getting his tongue cut off. But that didn't seem to hinder him from clearly guiding Peeta through the process of using a microwave oven.

For her, breakfast was a quiet affair. Messalla spoke a lot, and Peeta and Castor had a conversation going, but she remained silent for most of it. She couldn't forget that these people had "plans" for them, and she didn't understand why they were being so friendly, after they threatened to turn them in the previous night. Also, she was worried she might say the wrong thing and blow their cover; not speaking at all was the best way to avoid that.

Peeta seemed to have no problem with it, though. He held her hand all through breakfast-- he had to: Messalla wouldn't take his eyes off them for a second-- without showing any sign of being uncomfortable at all. He spent most of the meal chattering about the biscuits they were having; as a baker, he was naturally distrustful of this microwave thing and the convenience of reheated food but apparently he found the pastries to have adequate texture despite that. Katniss just ate. Freshly baked or not, she'd never had this much good food at a time and though it made her feel slightly guilty, who knew when her next meal was going to be. She had no appetite but she needed to keep her strength if she wanted to save Prim.

The green-haired woman, Cressida, walked into the dining car when they were already finished with breakfast. It must have been around noon. She wasn't carrying the bow with her, which immediately made Katniss distrustful. She told them she would hold onto it a little longer, because they wouldn't need it where they were headed. When Peeta asked what this place was, she told them as soon as they reached the Capitol, they'd be taken to the tributes' Training Center.

This had shocked them both. They had figured when they got to the Capitol they would have to somehow find their way to and into the Training Center; they were unfamiliar with the place so it wasn't a stage they could really plan for. Yet here these people were, about to take them exactly where they wanted to go. "Why?" Peeta voiced for both of them.

"There's someone you need to meet with," she responded as she spread cheese on one half of what Peeta had explained was a sesame seed bagel.

Finally Katniss couldn't contain her suspicion. "Why would we?" she asked, wary of everybody around her. Peeta's hold on her hand tightened, like he was warning her to be careful. "We don't even know what you want from us. What's stopping us from taking off on our own as soon as we get to the Capitol?"

She piled something that looked like fish eggs on the other half of the pastry. "Well, that would be rude. We've gotten you this far, don't you think it's only fair you do something for _us_?"

The emphasis on the last word was not lost on Katniss. Clearly she didn't mean just the rest of the camera crew. These people worked for the Capitol. Moreover, they worked for the _Games_. Who was this "us"? And what did they want with her? From her interest the night before she guessed it had something to do with archery, but she doubted anyone from the Capitol would be interested in squirrel meat.

The woman seemed to notice her doubts. "Don't over think it. You know it's your best bet," she said, leaving Katniss with the distinct impression that she knew more about her and Peeta than she let on. She took a bite of her bagel and pushed her chair back, getting up. "I've got work to do. Messalla, don't forget to bring me those contracts."

The mention of work seemed to confuse Peeta, and he wondered aloud why the crew had been recalled to the Capitol when surely they still had to get footage of District Twelve for the Games. Background pieces for the tributes, reaction shots and interviews from upcoming events like the opening ceremonies and score announcements, maybe even the interviews with the families if the tributes from Twelve made it to the last eight. Usually several camera crews swarmed all around the district during the Games. So why was this one going back to the Capitol?

Cressida, who had been making her way to the door, scoffed. "Please, I don't do puff pieces," she asserted with an almost arrogant shake of her head. "We only film stuff that matters." And with those parting words, she walked out the door and to her own compartment.

Katniss knew what mattered to her. She wondered what mattered to these people.

As they went back to their passenger car, Peeta asked her what she thought of these recent developments. Truth be told, it hadn't even occurred to her to ask him what he thought their next step should be. Back at home, she made most of the decisions on her own, and even when it came to hunting, Gale and her were usually in the same page; most of the time all it took was one look and they knew what the other was thinking. The same was not true with Peeta, and after he commented that he was beginning to like their fellow passengers, she had her doubts about them being on the same page anytime soon.

Still, he agreed with her idea that they should stick with this for the moment. These people were taking them just where they wanted to go, and a break like that didn't happen twice. They couldn't just let that chance pass them by. They weren't going to do whatever it was these guys wanted them to do, not while their main focus was getting to Prim, but there was no plan B. Go with it now, deal with it later: she rather thought that had become the norm for this entire endeavor.

They arrived at the Capitol around dinnertime, and a car picked them up to take them to the Training Center immediately. Once there, they were practically shoved through a back door and led to the office of a woman Katniss gathered was some sort of Chief of Staff.

From that point on, they were to pose as Avoxes so they could not speak to anyone for the duration of their stay in the building. The only place that was safe for them to talk was the servants' quarters, which were the only rooms in the building that weren't bugged for surveillance, for obvious reasons.

They were given their uniforms, a set of key-cards for the elevators, which allowed them access only to the specific areas of the building they would be working at, and then they were sent their separate ways. The entire thing happened so fast, Katniss could barely process all the information. What was happening didn't really hit her until after Peeta was taken to the kitchens, and she was led to her assigned room in the Avox quarters. She would be serving one of the districts, but since dinner was already underway, she wouldn't start until the next morning.

She looked around the room. It was long and narrow, barely accommodating a dozen beds, half of them lined up against one wall, half of them against the opposite. The walls were grey. The mattresses were battered and overused. It was dark; there was a wide window above the beds on one of the walls, but it was only about eight inches high and covered with a semi-translucent screen, so it didn't allow that much light in. The fluorescent lamp on the ceiling didn't help with the dimness, and it flickered from time to time, like it was about to give out soon.

It certainly was a far cry from the image of the Capitol she'd had in her mind. She'd never really thought about how servants would live in the big city, but now she knew it wasn't much better than she did in her small house at the Seam. In fact, this place reminded her of the Community Home back at Twelve. Her mother had taken her there once, to help her treat some of the kids for the chicken pox (normally Prim would go with her, but she'd never had the chicken pox before, while Katniss had, as a child). The rooms there looked almost exactly like the one she was standing in.

Her back was to the door as she inspected the place, until she heard someone come in. She turned around and came face to face with a young woman, probably around her age. She had dark red hair, striking features, and porcelain skin. She was also wearing a similar uniform to the one Katniss had been given. She recognized the woman as the Avox who had first led her to this room about half an hour previous, but now that she could actually take a good look at her, she thought she seemed familiar, like they'd met somewhere else.

"I know you, don't I?" she asked, not worried about keeping up the façade; the girl had been privy to their entire conversation with the Chief of Staff, so she already knew Katniss wasn't really an Avox. The redhead's eyes widened-- maybe she was surprised at being recognized, or maybe she was just scared by her bluntness-- and that's when Katniss finally pinpointed the memory.

Hunting in the woods with Gale. All the birds going quiet. The girl and the boy, running through the forest desperately. The hovercraft appearing out of nowhere. The boy being speared right through. The girl's chilling scream. And then, nothing. They were just gone.

They had escaped, she concluded now. Probably from the Capitol, judging from their appearance, but they had escaped their home nonetheless. And they were punished for it. The boy died that day, she was sure of it. And the girl had her tongue cut out. Was that what the Capitol would do to her and Peeta if they got caught? Suddenly everything felt so much more real.

She knew the other woman recognized her; she could see it from her expression. Her and Gale, they could've been this girl's salvation that day. That's not something you forget. But before she could say anything, Peeta walked through the door, followed by none other than Haymitch Abernathy.

Peeta seemed to notice something was troubling her, because he walked up to her the minute he saw her. "Are you alright?" he asked her, sounding worried.

"Fine," she muttered, dismissively. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Avox girl leave the room, but she wasn't even thinking about that anymore as she focused her attention on the older man. "What is he doing here?" she asked Peeta. Wasn't this man supposed to be on one of the upper floors, coaching her sister? Shouldn't he be coming up with strategies? Keeping Prim alive? Wasn't that what mentors were supposed to do?

"Apparently he's the guy Cressida wanted us to meet with," Peeta replied. Where she sounded accusatory, he appeared utterly confused. Not that she could blame him, really. None of this made sense. How could Haymitch Abernathy, District Twelve's only surviving Victor and most notorious drunkard, be involved with a Capitol camera crew? To what purpose? And did it have anything to do with Prim?

"Well, it's nice to meet you too, sweetheart," he said to Katniss, derision evident in his tone. She scowled at him, ticked off by the nickname. He wasn't even bothered. "I should be the one who's disappointed. I was told I was getting a pair of fighters." He looked both of them up and down. "You don't look very tough."

"Fighters?" asked Peeta, grasping onto every possible hint.

"I want to see Prim," she declared, not even trying to understand what the man meant. She wanted to understand what this was all about, but right now it was secondary; if she could get to Prim, and get her out of here, it wouldn't matter anyway.

Abernathy's eyebrows rose, like he was surprised by her words. "That's right. You're blondie's sister, aren'tcha?" he stated, more than asked. Apparently he'd only just recognized her. Then he paused, like something else had occurred to him. "Hunter girl," he murmured. Katniss didn't know how he knew she hunted; she'd certainly never sold _him_ any game, and though she had a reputation in the district, he didn't seem like the type to be socializing with merchants. Perhaps Prim had told him.

Before she could confirm that she was indeed Prim's sister, the man crossed his arms and shook his head. "'Fraid that's not possible," he said, which she gathered was a reply to her firm request that he take her to see her sister.

"Why not?" She narrowed her eyes at him, on edge at the refusal.

He shrugged. "For one, she's not here," he explained simply. "She's still at the Remake Center. But even when she comes here, I can't let you see her," he added. At her aggravated glare, he expanded. "She can't afford any distractions right now. She can't know her sister is putting herself in danger just to come see her. It's the last thing she needs right before the Games begin."

"She can't go into the arena!" she snapped at him, finally losing her patience. The fear and anxiety that had gripped her heart since the day of the Reaping was taking a hold of her, no matter how hard she tried to keep a level head. "They'll kill her--"

"So you _did_ come all the way here with the idea that you could rescue her," he said with something of a smirk, like he'd hit some kind of jackpot. It only incensed Katniss even more. "Listen," he continued in such a condescending tone that she had to wonder if he was doing this on purpose to rile her up, "here's how this works: Let me handle the task of keeping her alive. That's my job now."

"She's my _sister_ \--"

"And that's worth jack around here," he interrupted her again, raising his voice. "All that means to the Capitol is that they have someone they can use to hurt her. Seeing you get yourself killed on some foolish impulse to try and save her on your own won't do her any good." He had grown serious. He still looked disheveled and his breath stank of liquor, but he was dead serious. "Don't be stupid, girlie. I agree, she's too soft for the arena, but you can't just grab her, walk out the door of the Training Center and hope to stay hidden for the rest of your lives."

"They'll find you," he affirmed, a grave nod emphasizing his words. "And if they can't find you, they'll take it out on that boyfriend of hers. Or his family. Or _his_ family," he said, tilting his head in the direction of Peeta, who had remained quiet and still for the last few minutes. "Believe me, I would know." His gray Seam eyes almost burned as he fixed them on her. "Is that what you want?"

She kept silent, internalizing this. Everything she knew about the Capitol told her it was true. No, that's not what she wanted. Nobody else could get hurt. She swallowed hard. "There's got to be a way."

"The Capitol doesn't lose," came the reply. He was leaning back against the wall, looking at her expectantly, like he was awaiting her reaction. Peeta was also staring at her intently, but as Abernathy started speaking again, he turned his attention back to the older man. "The only way you can be sure they won't go after you is if they already have their hands full. Hit them when they're low."

"Hit them?" Peeta intervened for the first time in what felt like forever. "You mean like... rebellion?" he let out the last word in a shocked whisper, like just the mere mention of it could make an entire troop of Peacekeepers suddenly burst through the door and shoot them all dead. Abernathy remained silent, but that was all the confirmation they needed.

A rebellion. Somewhere within the Capitol, a group of dissidents were planning an organized strike against the government. And Haymitch Abernathy was part of it. Cressida and her camera crew, too. And probably more than a few Avoxes. Who else? How big was this? A lot of things made sense now. From the beginning she'd thought this was a Capitol group taking advantage of the fact that they'd been found out and blackmailing her and Peeta to get something from them. But she'd been wrong. So wrong.

Her head hurt. This wasn't what she'd come here for. Sure, she hated the Capitol as much as anyone in the districts did. They'd taken her father from her, by forcing him to work in the mines. They'd taken her mother too, because she couldn't live without her father. They'd caused her and her loved ones to go through pain, and need, and hunger. And now they had taken Prim, too. She more than agreed with anyone who wanted to take the government down, but that didn't mean she wanted to suddenly find herself right in the middle of it.

All she wanted was to take Prim away from all this, and keep her safe. But now because of the rebellion, there was no certainty that she'd even get the chance. And she couldn't forget these people wanted to _use_ her for something; she still didn't know what that was. _What am I going to do?_

Almost as if he saw the topic of being "used" pop into her head and wanted to dive right into it, Abernathy started speaking again. "So, she's a hunter." He turned to Peeta. "What can you do?"

Peeta, who seemed to still be processing all this information in his head, responded predictably: "I can bake."

The older man snorted in a decidedly unamused fashion. "Great. You wanna stop the Games and you bring a baker with you. Brilliant."

Katniss did not appreciate the sarcasm. Ignoring the fact that Gale had voiced pretty much the same concerns in pretty much the same tone before they left Twelve, or that she'd had her own doubts about Peeta's usefulness for this plan just the previous night, she frowned at Abernathy darkly. "He's strong," she pointed out. "I've seen him lift hundred-pound bags of flour at the market. And he wrestled," she added, vaguely remembering hearing his name during school events. "He and his brothers used to get the top spots in competitions when we were in school. That's something."

Then it was Peeta who turned to look at her with a strange expression: half surprised, half like she'd just said something ridiculous. "That was years ago," he started, shaking his head dismissively. "And it's not like wrestling is going to help against the Capitol and their tanks, and their bombs, and their guns," he finished, almost like he was mad-- whether it was at her or at himself, she didn't know.

"You killed a Peacekeeper last night," she reminded him. If he had forgotten, he was a fool. She'd killed three men and the thought still made her feel nauseous. For some reason she'd always thought killing with a bow and arrow, at a distance, made it easier, like with the game she shot in the forest. Not having to see their faces. But now she knew that wasn't true.

"I didn't mean to," he shot back, and he sounded so conflicted, she knew that man's death did weigh in his mind. "He was going to pull me off the train. I was just trying to get him to let go of me. It doesn't mean I have any sort of skill."

His self-deprecation only made her steel her resolve. She didn't know why she felt suddenly so defensive over Peeta. It might have been because she was just beginning to realize how much he was _really_ putting at risk by coming here to help her save Prim; it made her feel guilty. But whatever the reason, she wasn't going to let anyone sell him short-- not even himself. "You were just telling me yesterday not to underrate myself. So take your own advice!"

"That's different," he shook his head even harder.

"Why is it different?" she challenged.

He didn't even try to respond. He just rolled his eyes and turned to Abernathy with barely held back exasperation. "She just can't see it." He made a gesture with his hands, like implying she was missing some completely obvious fact that everybody else knew about.

"See _what_?" she snapped at him. It ticked her off because it was true, she didn't understand what she couldn't see, and it wasn't the first time he had said something like this to her either. If he would just say what he meant it would make her feel like less of an idiot.

He didn't. He just stared at her and just as she was about to push him for an answer again, Abernathy intervened, and they both turned toward him. "Are you done?" he asked in a flat, deadpan tone that somehow still managed to strike her as irritating. "As much fun as it is to watch you two debate about how awesome the other is," he began, the inflection of his voice making it clear that he found their argument everything _but_ fun, "the boy is right."

She was about to voice a protest again, but he didn't let her. "Wrestling, heavy lifting, that's all great," he assured her, sounding appeasing, "but none of that is gonna help us kill Seneca Crane."

To say they were surprised to hear this was an understatement. Peeta gasped, jaw dropping, while she promptly forgot everything she'd been arguing about a minute previous and just stared at the man. She didn't know what shocked her more: to hear that they were planning the Head Gamemaker, or the fact that Abernathy had blurted it out so easily, almost like an afterthought.

She understood why Crane would be an ideal target. The Gamemakers, in their position as masterminds behind the Hunger Games, were the executioners of the Capitol's ultimate punishment on the districts. These men had been killing children for the sake of entertainment for the last 79 years. Crane could determine Prim's life or death with the push of a button. Katniss certainly would not feel bad if he were to die, she thought he deserved it, but that didn't mean she had ever wanted to help plan his murder. Except now she was.

"That's what you want to do?" Peeta asked when he finally found his voice again. "Kill the Head Gamemaker right when the Games are about to start? When all the attention will be on him?" When he put it that way, it did sound incredibly difficult. "The guy has been in charge for seven years. Who knows how many opportunities you could've had before this. And the rebels couldn't come up with a better plan?"

"We had many," Abernathy stated, his eyebrows raised like he found it very interesting that Peeta was criticizing the insurgence's strategies. "But this is what we're left with now: a long-distance kill, and no time to train anyone." His gray eyes moved to her again. "Fortunately an Olympic-range archer just fell right in our hands. We're going forward with it."

He pushed himself off the wall, and Peeta was gaping at her openly, but she was rooted to her spot. This is what they wanted her to do: kill a man. Kill the man that held her sister's life in his hands. She didn't want to do it. But how could she say no? Abernathy, somehow, knew she couldn't. "If you do this, we can get your sister out," he reinforced the thought.

And with that, he walked to the exit. "Don't try to see her. Stick to your assigned tasks, both of you. We'll contact you when we need to." He opened the door; it creaked. And when he walked out, it slammed behind him, startling both of them out of their thoughts.

Peeta was looking at her with a concerned expression. She wished he wouldn't. It only reminded her how shaky her hold on this entire situation really was.

_What am I going to do?_

If this was really her best bet to save her sister, then there wasn't much of a choice at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took me a little longer than usual, guys. Chapter 19 was a tough one for me to write. For the events happening in it, mainly, though the PoV certainly didn't help. (I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count).
> 
> But anyway, that's enough vague spoilers for now. How did you all like this chapter? First off, a virtual cookie to Greenie Pie, who was the only one to spot the _Breakfast Club_ reference ("I heard a ruckus"), and to Aimless Wonder, who was the only one to guess, right off the bat, that last chapter's familiar faces were Cressida and her crew. I just love Cressida, she's so HBIC. ;) Plus, writing Haymitch is always fun.
> 
> I hope you liked this, and I also hope that you're finally starting to see where this is going. Or at least have an inkling. ^^;;; As always, please review! Your comments and speculation are always welcome. =)


	14. Madge: This Horrible Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 14: This horrible morning_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Madge was already running harried even before she left her house that morning.

After Prim got reaped, Katniss and Peeta's escape from the district, and then that fiasco of a call to Haymitch Abernathy a couple nights back, she'd been so worried she'd hardly had a decent night's sleep in a week. She had been hoping she'd be able to get some rest the previous night, as she'd come home early to have dinner with her mother and get the rest of the paperwork done with quickly.

Halfway through the meal, her mother's eating had slowed down, she started taking more time between bites, and taking a hand to her head every few minutes; it was a sure sign that she was starting to feel sick, so they cut the meal short and she accompanied her mom to bed, making sure she took her pills for the migraine. She spent most of the night with her, talking to her and reading to her until she finally fell asleep.

Her father came home a little before midnight, and relieved her of her watch over his wife. It was a routine they had had for the past few years; her mother's headaches always got worse as the Hunger Games drew closer, and they both tried to make it a little bit easier on her, if they could. It was very late when Madge finally got around to working on all the paperwork she'd brought with her from the office. By the time she finally went to bed, it was almost two in the morning.

Like every other weekday, she had to wake up at six in order to be at the office in time. Needless to say, she'd been completely out of it as she went about getting ready. The dark circles under her eyes wouldn't go away, and she hit her knee against her nightstand as she went to put on her shoes. Her bedside table had been there for the last fifteen years of her life, so there was really no excuse for her clumsiness.

She usually had breakfast with her father and then they walked to the office together, but when she came downstairs looking for him, he was nowhere to be found. Grethel, who for some unfathomable reason _liked_ waking up before dawn, informed her he had left the house even before the sun came up, in such a hurry he'd even forgone breakfast. She wondered what had happened to make her father rush to the office so early.

She was scared it had something to do with Katniss and Peeta. Part of her hoped it did because at least in that case she would finally _know_ what was going on with them, but then again she would never wish for them to get in trouble. She could take not knowing if it meant they were okay.

She finished eating quickly and prepared to leave, picking up her small mountain of paperwork on her way out. Her arms were full so she couldn't easily close the door on her own; she tried to go at it with her foot but she stumbled and half the documents fell out of her hands and went sprawling on the porch floor. She held back an expletive ( _A lady never curses_ , she could almost hear her mother's voice remind her) and with a sigh, crouched down to pick everything up before a breeze blew by.

"Excuse me, Miss Undersee?" She looked up from the papers to see that Peacekeeper Mendel was standing at the foot of the porch steps, looking at her expectantly. She could see through the opening in his helmet that there was an adhesive bandage on the bridge of his nose, and she could just see some bruising to the sides of it, courtesy of Katniss's punch the day of the Reaping.

"Hello," she responded. She probably wouldn't be greeting anyone with a "good morning" that day. And her morning wasn't getting any better with the man simply standing there and staring instead of helping her pick up the papers. She thought back to Gale the last time she saw him; he hadn't offered to help her carry her load into the house either, even though he obviously knew she was struggling with it. Was chivalry completely lost nowadays? But that was neither here nor there. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"We've been ordered to go door-to-door for a head count," he explained, sounding annoyingly proper. This wasn't the first time she dealt with Mendel; the man loved pretending to be all official, but in reality he was just pompous and rather inept. "Is everyone in your household accounted for?"

She picked up the last few sheets of paper and stood up as carefully as she could with her arms full of documents. "Yes," she told him, with a nod. The end of her ponytail swished against the back of her neck. "My mother's still sleeping, and both the maid and the cook are already up and working. My father left a while ago for the office, though," she added. "I hope that's not a problem."

"I'm sure it's not," he declared with his nose in the air, like he was doing her some sort of favor. It amazed her, and not in a good way, that he could still be so patronizing even with a broken nose. Especially considering how public that particular happening was. "This is just a formality, really."

She held back the urge to roll her eyes at him. She had no doubt if she had lived in the Seam instead of right in front of the town square, the Peacekeepers would have no qualms about pushing their way into her house and turning every piece of furniture if needed until they could make sure everybody was where they said they were. They just didn't dare do so in the case of the Mayor's house.

And speaking of living right in front of the town square, she'd only just noticed, as she looked past Mendel, that there was a large crowd of people gathering there. The only reason she could think of for the square to be this full of people this early in the morning was if there was a mandatory event in the Games, but the Games hadn't even started yet. "What's going on back there?" she asked the man.

"I'm not sure," he replied, now staring at the cluster of people just as she was. "I've been going from house to house for a while so I haven't been informed about this." Everybody's backs were to them, as if they were looking at something that was happening in the middle of the square.

With a puzzled frown she put down her stack of papers near the door, settled her briefcase on top of them so they wouldn't get blown away by the wind, and made her way down the porch steps, past an utterly confused Mendel and toward the town square with an urgent pace to her steps.

It took her a few minutes to push herself through the crowd, and what she saw when she made it to the front made her heart leap to her throat: Gale, being pushed face-down into the ground by two Peacekeepers. She gasped. "What's happening?" she asked out loud to whoever in the crowd might answer her. "Why are they doing this to him?"

She was immediately anxious, and wanted to do whatever she could to help, but short of running to get her father (which wasn't even a guarantee), she didn't know what she could do. She couldn't just step in and demand they let him go; especially not if they had a valid reason to hold him.

It was a taller, blond woman standing next to her that replied to her query. Madge recognized her as the florist's daughter, who was just a couple years older than her. "That one over there is Romulus Thread," she said, pointing to the Peacekeeper who was pushing Gale's face down into the dirt with a foot between his shoulder blades. The other one was restraining Gale's arms behind his back and keeping him from struggling. "He says he's our new Head Peacekeeper," the woman added, sounding scared.

Madge was shocked. Could that be true? In the case of something as significant as naming a new Head Peacekeeper, the Mayor's office _had_ to be informed, but she hadn't heard anything about it before. Was that why her father had left the house so early and in such a hurry that morning? Could they really do that, send in a new Head Peacekeeper literally overnight? But why would they? What was so urgent? "But why are they punishing Gale Hawthorne? What did he do?" she questioned further.

"I don't know," the woman said, with a shake of her head. She was looking to the front instead of looking at Madge. "I think maybe when the Peacekeepers went into his house, someone was missing?" Everything seemed like conjecture at that point. "It was the same for the Baker's family," she added, pointing to the far right. Madge hadn't noticed them before, but there Peeta's mother and his brother Crispen stood, both being held by Peacekeepers. Neither looked happy, but they weren't struggling so there was no need to push them down like they did Gale.

Gale and the Mellarks... Katniss and Peeta. Her heart sank to her stomach. This was not good.

Almost as if answering her earlier question, Thread spoke up as he pushed Gale even harder into the ground with his foot. "Answer me. Where is Katniss Everdeen?" he demanded, his tone grave and his expression severe.

Gale's cheek was pressing harshly against the dirt and even so, he still tried his hardest to get loose. "I already told you, I don't know!" he growled as best he could. His teeth were grinding together, or maybe the ground simply didn't allow him to move his jaw, so it came out as a rough mumble. He had to be hurting, but if there was one thing she knew about Gale Hawthorne, it was that he would never betray Katniss's trust. They weren't going to get anything from him.

Thread took his foot off Gale's back and for one hopeful second, Madge thought they might let him go. But that didn't happen. Instead, the Head Peacekeeper crouched beside Gale's head, and grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head off the ground. Gale's back arched, and it was obviously painful.

"Gale Hawthorne," Thread started again, sounding strict. It startled Madge; it was almost like he was about to pronounce sentence. "Twenty-three years of age. Miner. Resides in the area of District Twelve known as the Seam. Father died in a mine explosion ten years ago. Lives with mother, single, washer woman, and three underage younger siblings..." he trailed off. He had pronounced every word very clearly, so that everybody could hear. It was nothing the people of Twelve didn't already know, but it was chilling. Somehow, Madge knew there was a threat hidden somewhere in his words.

She felt she might start crying. If there was anything that could make Gale confess, it was this: Thread was effectively pitting Katniss's secret against his family's well-being and she knew for him, it was the toughest decision he could ever make. It wasn't fair. "I'll ask you one last time," Thread proclaimed. "Where is Katniss Everdeen?"

"They ran off, okay?!" Gale finally broke. Not that Madge could blame him; if her family was on the line, she would've done the same. Katniss and Peeta were already out of the district and would be harder targets to find than the Hawthorne kids. But then he surprised her when he continued. "Katniss couldn't stand to see her sister die, so her and Mellark ran off together. Katniss knows enough about plants to survive in the forest."

Madge frowned, obviously knowing that's not what really happened. Why would he make up a story like that? She got her answer when Thread let go of Gale and with a crisp "release him," let the other Peacekeeper know to let him go. He signaled the same to the two that were holding Peeta's family. "I want a permanent hovercraft sweep of the forest until they're found," he told the other three, and that's when Madge understood why Gale had done what he'd done: if they were looking in the forest, they wouldn't be looking in the direction of the Capitol.

"Everybody back to work!" Thread exclaimed, and immediately the crowd started to dissipate. The man had only been in Twelve for a few hours and everybody was already terrified of him. And she was, as well. As he was walking out of the square, Thread's eyes locked on hers for a moment and she felt her blood run cold.

She rushed to where they'd left Gale. He was already being helped up by Purnia. She was a Peacekeeper too, but she had worked in Twelve for quite a few years already, so she knew and was on good terms with most people. Two young men about Gale's age came up to them. From their clothes, she figured they were miners; probably Gale's friends. She saw Gale tell them something, and they took off in the direction of the Seam.

The Mellarks were walking away from the square, which she thought was odd. Wouldn't they want to know what else Gale knew about Peeta's sudden disappearance? Or at least, knowing Mrs. Mellark, she might want to scream in Gale's face until he took back the ridiculous notion that her son had run off with a girl from the Seam. But she didn't. Maybe she was in too much pain; surely it couldn't be comfortable for her to be forcibly dragged out of her house in her condition. She saw Crispen look back at Gale once, frowning, but other than that they just left without saying anything.

Purnia seemed surprised when Madge walked up to them, but otherwise made no comment. "Are you okay?" Madge asked, coming to stand beside Gale. As he turned toward her, she saw his right cheek was all scraped up. "You're bleeding," she gasped, immediately reaching for her pocket to offer him a handkerchief-- but then she remembered it was in her briefcase, which she had left at home.

He waved off her concern anyway, pulling out a used rag from his own pocket to wipe the blood off his cheek. Madge cringed. She hoped he didn't use that piece of cloth to clean up at the mine; that would just be begging for an infection. "What happened? Why were they holding you if they were looking for Katniss?"

"I'm not sure," he said as he looked down at the rag in his hand. He frowned, and in Madge's opinion he looked more angry that he was bleeding than worried about it. "I was walking home when they grabbed me. They let us off work so we could be interrogated. I guess they must've gone to Katniss's place and found it empty, and maybe the neighbors told them I'd be the most likely to know where she was. Next thing I know I'm being dragged all the way here."

He folded the piece of cloth and put it back in his pocket. His cheek was no longer bleeding but the scratches were an angry red color. "The Mellarks couldn't tell them anything, but they're blonde and blue-eyed, so they took it out on me instead," he added in a mutter.

Madge hoped that was just a general comment and that it wasn't directed at her. She didn't think there was any conceivable reason for him to be mad at her at this point, but you never knew with Gale Hawthorne; sometimes his resentment extended to anyone and anything. But even if it was directed at her, she knew better than to rise to the taunt. "Purnia," she turned to the female Peacekeeper instead, "is it true that Thread is our new Head Peacekeeper? How is that possible? And why wasn't my father informed weeks ago?"

"He is," Purnia replied. "I don't know why it happened so fast, but Cray was recalled back to Headquarters last night. Thread took charge this morning. First thing he did was order us to make sure everyone in the district was accounted for."

"Gave himself a nice little 'Welcome to District Twelve' present," Gale grumbled again, as he rolled his shoulders back and forth, cringing a little when the muscles pulled too hard. With the way he'd been struggling and the tough hold that Peacekeeper had on him, it was a miracle he hadn't ended up with a dislocated shoulder.

Purnia turned to him, an almost reproachful expression in her face. "Next time that happens, just tell him what he wants to know. It'll be better for you in the long run." She wasn't that much older than them, maybe ten years or so, but something in her tone made Madge think she sounded like a mother reprimanding her son. She wondered if this wasn't the first time she'd helped Gale after a scrape. "He'll be watching you now. Don't give him an excuse."

She looked at both of them in turn. "And it _will_ happen again," she assured them, serious. "Things are going to start getting ugly around here," she added. Then she looked around, almost like she wanted to make sure nobody could overhear. A few people were still walking away from the square. She leaned in a little and whispered: "No one has heard from Darius since the day of the Reaping."

Madge's eyes widened. Darius had disappeared? And Purnia was clearly hinting that it was Capitol-related-- but why? Because he was lenient with Katniss? She didn't even want to imagine what they could do to him. Darius was a good man. He didn't deserve to be punished for helping someone, but clearly, the Capitol did not consider leniency a good thing. Especially on a live broadcast.

A quick glance at Gale let her know he was as shaken by this as she was. Purnia gave them both one last, significant glance, and turned to leave the square. Madge wrapped her arms around her torso protectively. "I feel nauseous," she admitted. She was sure her face was turning green, so she might as well. "Whatever they did to Darius... that's what they'll do to Katniss, isn't it?" she asked in a small voice.

"They'll have to find her first," he asserted, apparently having recovered from the shock of Purnia's news. He continued to check himself for injuries, this time taking a look at his wrists, which were very red from the pressure exerted on them.

Whether he really believed Katniss could escape the Capitol's punishment or he was only trying to convince himself of that, she wasn't sure. But it didn't make her feel any less scared. "That's what they could do to us," she pointed out. If they couldn't find Katniss and Peeta, and they needed a fall guy, they were right at their hands, and already in too deep.

He scoffed, as he usually did when she as much as implied their situations were in any way comparable. "Please. You're the daughter of the Mayor. They're not gonna do anything to you."

"Well, who knows what they did to Darius, and he was one of them," she was quick to remind him. When it came to taking down potential threats, the Capitol had no scruples. Any and everybody was expendable, so long as the Capitol stood. She knew, she knew more than he ever would, more than _anyone_ , that if the Capitol had their eye on you, they'd take you out whether you gave them a reason or not. There was no need to make things worse. "He threatened your family. Gale, we have to be careful," she added.

"That's it," he almost barked at her all of a sudden. Apparently now she _had_ said something that made him angry, she just wasn't sure what it was. "You have to get off this 'we' thing. There's no 'we.' We're not... partners, okay? This isn't a school project."

His tone shook her, of course-- she wasn't used to people being so harsh to her-- but it was more his choice of words that made her pause. "Partner" was a word Katniss often used to refer to Gale. For a long time she thought it was because she was too shy to admit they were friends, or maybe something more. (Her and Katniss didn't talk about boys. Madge knew on her side that was because she had no boys whatsoever in her life to talk about, but she'd always thought Katniss did, even if she was very private about it). But after the way they spoke to each other the day of the Reaping at Katniss's house, the way they seemed to understand what the other meant with just a glance, she was beginning to think "partners" meant more than just "not quite boyfriend" and certainly held a special significance to them both. That's what he was telling her: she was no Katniss.

Was that what she'd really been doing? Had she been thinking of her and Gale as some sort of "team" because they were the only ones around who knew about Katniss and Peeta? That was silly. Gale Hawthorne was not her friend. Gale Hawthorne wasn't anything to her, and would never even want to be. Still, with this entire situation with Katniss, and now Purnia's warning, thinking of all the possible consequences was so utterly terrifying for her that the idea of having to keep it together on her own almost paralyzed her. "You were the one who came to my house yesterday," she tried to rebuff. Maybe she only said it to make herself feel less like a wuss.

He didn't seem to notice she was upset at all. Instead he just glared at her and muttered: "Fat load of good it did."

"That wasn't my fault," she replied. Here she was, on the edge of hyperventilation, and his comments could still make her feel even weaker than she already did. She wished she could stand up for herself, sound determined and in control like Katniss would, but she couldn't. Best she could manage was keeping her voice from faltering. "And all I meant was, everything that happens with Katniss affects us both. So if you could have the common courtesy of not getting yourself killed or worse, that would be great, because I can't handle that on top of everything else."

The words came out with more force toward the end, but she knew it was not out of strength, but out of anxiety. Knowing that it wouldn't do for her to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of the town square when nothing had even really happened yet, she tried to calm down. She took a deep breath and ran a hand over her face. Her hand was shaking and that, it seemed, he noticed. "I can take care of myself," he said, eyeing her carefully, almost warily, like she was a bomb about to go off, or worse: start crying.

He wasn't too far off. "I know," she conceded. She was still trying to regain her composure so every time she spoke it came out as an exhalation. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just-- I had just been talking to Darius the morning of the Reaping..." she sighed. "I feel sick to my stomach," she repeated, underlining how upset she was. She shouldn't have apologized-- he _had_ goaded her, after all-- but years of conditioning to always be polite made it a reflex. And maybe he was just on edge because he was worried about Katniss. She understood the feeling. "That was quick thinking, by the way," she added. "That whole thing about them running off together."

He grimaced a little, then shrugged. "It's what Mellark told his family," he said, almost like it pained him to admit it. Things made more sense knowing that. She figured Peeta hadn't come up with the "running off into the woods" part, else his mother or brother would've said something about it when they were questioned, but they did have some idea that he'd escaped the district with a girl, even if they didn't know that girl was Katniss.

"What I'm wondering is how the Peacekeepers found out," Gale continued speaking. For a moment he seemed to be about to cross his arms, but thought better of it, probably because it hurt. "I mean, I know it wasn't me. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't Rory either. He's barely spoken at all this week." He frowned at this, pensive, then turned to her. "You didn't tell anyone, did you?"

She shook her head. "No," she assured him. Considering she felt so overwhelmed by just keeping the secret, and so nervous because of the lack of news, she'd been doing her best to avoid even looking into people's eyes for the last couple of days. "But if the three of us are the only ones who know, I can't think of any way that they could have..." But suddenly it hit her that there was one other person they had talked to about this, and all the blood drained from her face.

This time, he noticed straight away. "What is it?" he asked, immediately alert.

"The call," she whispered breathlessly, heart starting to pound crazily again, and she could see it begin to dawn on Gale from his expression. "It's the only time we've talked about this with someone else overhearing. That has to be it, there's no other way."

"You think Abernathy ratted us out to the Capitol?" he asked. He didn't sound like he bought that idea.

"Maybe? No," she started somewhat shakily, but then rectified her position. "No. I mean, he was so abrupt. That night I thought he was just drunk, but now I'm thinking maybe he meant to cut me off. If he was going to report it, wouldn't he have wanted me to further incriminate myself?"

"So, what, your phone is bugged?" he asked, immediately falling toward the only other option, which, of course, was the one she was trying really hard not to think about.

"Or my house," she added, choking on the words. Admitting this was really hard for her. Knowing that her every move could be overheard or even watched within the walls of her house-- how could she ever feel safe in there again? And how horrible was that, to not feel safe in one's own home? Did her father know about the surveillance? Did he even suspect? And if he did, how could he stand it? She didn't know how she could live like this, and she'd only just found out. She couldn't imagine living with that risk for years.

But the worst part of it was the guilt. She thought of Gale being roughly pushed down against the ground, interrogated like a criminal in front of the whole district. She thought of the look Thread had given her as he left the square, understanding now that it meant she was being watched as much as Gale was. She thought about Katniss and Peeta, trying their hardest to save Prim without knowing they were already being hunted. And it was all because of one simple, idiotic mistake on her part.

The words started coming out without her even realizing it. "This is my fault," she breathed out, dismayed. "I should never have made that call. What was I even thinking?" She grew more and more distressed with every sentence. "I even said I was calling because of a friend! Katniss is my only friend, it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. I am so stupid..."

"Look, it's done," Gale interrupted her self-deprecating tirade, clearly already in a lousy mood even without it. "Right now, they don't know they're headed to the Capitol. That gives them a good head start." She nodded, thankful that he had the presence of mind to troubleshoot even before knowing what exactly the cause of the problem was. "I gotta go. I have to get cleaned up before I head home," he said, signaling to his scraped-up cheek and his clothes, which were covered in dirt.

He turned to leave and since the crowd had dissipated completely by then, she stood there holding herself, watching him walk away as she waited for her shaking to subside. But she knew very well "it's done" did not mean "it's alright," and he knew she'd messed up just as much as she did. "Gale," she called out and even from a few yards away, he heard her and looked back to see what she wanted. She paused for a moment before asking: "Did I just ruin everything for them?"

He kept silent for a while, and it felt excruciating for her because she was hanging onto this one answer like her sanity depended on it. And it probably did. Part of her wished he would just lie, tell her it was an honest mistake and that everything would be okay anyway. But she knew he wouldn't. And he didn't. "Go home. You look like you're about to faint," was what he said, and though his bluntness bothered her, at least it was something she could count on. She appreciated that he didn't slam her even further down, at least.

She went back only for a minute, to pick up her briefcase and the stack of documents she'd left on the porch. Unlike the mines, her father's office had not closed for the day because of the interrogation. As she walked in an hour later than she should have, her father took one look at her and asked what was wrong. She didn't tell him about the scene at the square; he probably knew that Thread was launching a door-to-door operation and he was sure to get a report with the results of the questioning anyway. If he came across Katniss's name and asked her about it, she'd just go with Gale's "they ran off into the woods" story. In the meantime, she just didn't want to think about any of it. She felt bad enough as it was.

She claimed a massive headache, and she sounded so eerily like her mother, her father was ushering her back home before she even finished speaking. So she left all the paperwork on her desk and headed back. She didn't want to be inside her house-- even just crossing the threshold made her skin crawl-- but she had nowhere else to go. She spent the rest of the morning sitting on her bed, hugging her pillow to her chest like she used to do when she was little and scared, either wiping away silent tears, or examining every inch of her room like she was expecting to find someone staring back at her. When Grethel came up to ask if she wanted some lunch, she simply shook her head, not feeling in the mood to eat or even talk to anyone.

Eventually when she began to feel thirsty, probably from crying so much, she figured she couldn't stay in her room forever, and decided to go downstairs to get a glass of water. Every muscle in her legs protested as she got up from her bed; she had sat without moving for hours. She walked out to the hallway, finding it as quiet as it usually was. And precisely because it was so quiet, she heard the murmur of the television as she walked past the closed door to her father's study.

She knew what the sound meant: the closed-circuit system had come alive on its own, presenting whoever was around to watch with a news report the Capitol deemed urgent. These reports were meant to be confidential, but her father had never been particularly concerned with keeping his study private. If it really was life-or-death intel, the government had other methods to making sure it was delivered for his eyes only. She remembered telling Gale just a couple days ago that there was information she had no access to.

This report, whatever it was, she could watch freely. Her father had never minded before. She had the key to the room, after all. She should watch it. Any information she could get was welcome. It could be about Katniss, or maybe it could at least help Katniss somehow. She _had_ to watch it.

She pulled her house keys out of her pocket (she hadn't bothered changing out of her clothes when she came home) and took the right key to the lock. Swallowing her apprehension at the prospect of being in that room again-- where she knew for certain she could be heard, maybe even watched by some faceless internal security person in the Capitol-- she pushed the door open and walked inside until she was facing the flat screen.

She was greeted with the image of something like a plaza or a town square. Not District Twelve's, clearly, but somewhat similar in shape, if not size. This one seemed to be a lot bigger. Instead of dirt and coal dust, the ground was sparsely covered by drying grass, like the type that was found at the meadow.

Rows of Peacekeepers bordered the square, all of them lined up in strict formation and holding their rifles, as if ready to start shooting at the slightest sign of a disturbance. She didn't know who they would shoot, though, as the square looked completely deserted of civilian population. The only people around were those the Peacekeepers were escorting, or more like pushing, across the square and toward a large building in the back, which she guessed was that district's version of the Justice Building.

The title and subtitle of the news report were displayed at the bottom of the screen, the usual bright white lettering against a red band with a "Capitol News" logo to the left side, letting her know just what exactly she was watching:

**Martial law in effect in District Eleven. Interrogations will continue until culprit found.**

Her hands shook so badly, she dropped her keys, which rattled as they hit the ground. Immediately her mind went to Romulus Thread and the scene in the Town Square that morning. Surely it couldn't be a coincidence that they were assigned a new Head Peacekeeper at the same time Eleven went under martial law. But why? And could this affect Katniss and Peeta's plan?

She didn't know what was happening, but there was one thing she was sure of, now more than ever... Purnia was right: things were going to start getting ugly. She had a feeling this one horrible morning was just the start of many horrible days to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Madgey. -hugs- I hope she didn't come across as weak here... she'll get her moment to shine in the future, but right now the point of the chapter was to show that she's scared. At this point, all of them are aware of the consequences of what they're doing, but Madge is the only one who actually _knows_. So she's really freakin' terrified. More on the reasons why, coming in the future.
> 
> Props and a virtual cookie to finnicodairyouare, who was the only person to recognize the Cranberries lyrics used last chapter: "With their tanks and their bombs, and their bombs and their guns" from their song _Zombie_ (paraphrased, of course). Also, something I forgot to mention the last time: as of chapter 12, _Ricochet_ is over 50K words long, and officially the longest fanfic I've ever written. Which is saying a lot, because I've been on this site since forever and y'all know how long-winded I am! ^^;;;
> 
> I got less reviews than usual for last chapter. I hope that doesn't mean you're not liking the plot, guys! =( I choose to believe you all were busy on Mother's Day weekend, instead. I should warn you, though, that the next chapter might take me a little bit longer than normal... I'm coming up to the point where I stopped planning in detail, so before I start writing 21, I have to sit down and extend my current outline a little further. That should take me a few days, so you may not see a new chapter next week. If you review, however, it might encourage me to work faster! -hinthint- ;)


	15. Prim: From The Same Mold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 15: From the same mold_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Despite Effie's assurances that the train had every commodity to ensure a relaxing trip to the Capitol, Prim thought it had been more tense and awkward than anything else.

Her fellow tribute, KJ Nevin, was a rowdy fourteen-year-old from the Seam. Prim didn't know him personally, but she knew _of_ him, because he was in Vick's grade in school. He lived with his mother and father. He didn't have any siblings. His father was a miner, while his mother mostly took care of the home, she did have a small garden where she grew herbs she sometimes traded at the Hob.

KJ was a quiet, withdrawn kid, but he had a very quick temper. More than once he'd gotten in trouble at school for fighting with other boys, usually from higher grades. According to Vick, he was very defensive and distrustful, to the point where most other kids, even those from the Seam, preferred staying away from him. Sometimes he'd come to school covered in bruises, Vick had told her in a grave whisper a couple of years back, but nobody could figure out who he'd gotten in a fight with.

It didn't take the other kids long to figure out that his father probably beat him. It was well known in the Seam that Keegan Nevin Sr. was a drinker. He had a decent income from the mines, which would allow his family, which was relatively small, to live more comfortably than the rest of the Seam. Yet his wife and son looked permanently emaciated; Rory suspected he spent most of his money on liquor, instead of feeding his family. The money KJ's mother made from her garden was enough for a meal every once in a while, but no more than that. KJ himself had gotten caught stealing from merchants more than once. Thankfully, no one in the district fancied watching a fourteen-year-old be executed, so the Peacekeepers were never called to intervene.

Maybe that's why KJ reacted so strongly to Haymitch, she realized now. The boy was already in a bad mood from the Reaping, and he grew steadily more and more annoyed because Effie kept calling him "Keegan," which he apparently didn't like. When Haymitch made his way into the dining compartment, stumbling with every step and apparently singing a song (which he curiously couldn't remember doing five minutes later), KJ's dark glare pretty much said everything.

After Haymitch's third or fourth refusal to give them anything in the way of useful survival information, the boy exploded. He wrestled the glass Haymitch was holding out of his hand and threw it forcefully against one of the walls, scotch and shards of glass flying everywhere, much to Effie's horror. Haymitch obviously didn't like this, and soon enough the whole thing had devolved into a fist fight. It only lasted a couple minutes but it was tense, and only ended when Haymitch finally managed to pin KJ down on the floor with his feet. Everybody was surprised (KJ most of all), but now that she thought about it without the anxiety taking over, well... Haymitch _was_ a victor after all. Even if he was drunk, he was dangerous.

She didn't know if that made her feel better or worse that he was her mentor.

After that, KJ stormed off somewhere, nursing a bleeding lip and an eye that was starting to bruise, while Haymitch went off to his room, ignoring all of Effie's exasperated attempts to berate him. When she went back to her room to change, the door to his room was open and she thought she heard the sounds of him retching in his bathroom. The healer in her wanted to go in and offer him a glass of water with cider vinegar, but she figured he'd be the type to drink more alcohol to stave off the hangover.

She didn't see either of them for the rest of the day. She had dinner with Effie. In between eating all the succulent morsels that were laid out for them, Effie explained the process they would have to follow before getting to the actual Games. She tried to pay close attention, despite the occasional self-absorbed comments their escort interspersed here and there. Especially to the parts that weren't usually aired on TV. Effie may have tried to make it all sound like a very exciting and glamorous affair, which she knew it wasn't, but the woman knew more about the logistics behind the scenes than anybody else in that train did. One never knew when her knowledge might come in handy, and at this point, she needed all the help she could get.

That first night on the train was hard, because her sleep was plagued with nightmares of indistinct shapes surrounding her, almost suffocating her. But then she would wake up to find the shapes surrounding her even in her waking hours; she was in a strange room and not used to the furniture and ornaments in it, nor the shadows they projected onto the walls. More than once she woke up agitated, and looking for Katniss, only to break down when she realized her sister wasn't there. When she remembered she might never see her again. Eventually she cried herself to sleep, but Effie was knocking at her door what seemed like mere minutes later.

Haymitch made his appearance for breakfast the next morning, wearing the same clothes he was wearing the previous night (although now covered in vomit stains), and looking like the mere act of breathing, let alone moving, caused him pain. Thankfully Effie wasn't around, because neither of them was in the mood for one of her rants. He sat across the table from her and moved to pour himself half a cup of tea. Then he pulled a flask out of the pocket of his pants (...of course) and filled the rest of his cup with its contents.

Prim grimaced at him. "It's nine in the morning," she pointed out. He blissfully ignored her as he chugged down his spiked tea. She sighed in resignation. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

He finished downing his drink and put the cup down, fixing her with an annoyed glare. "Well, that's a waste of a wish," he replied snidely. "'Specially if you want me to _mentor_ you," the emphasis he placed on the word showcased exactly how highly he thought of this whole "mentoring" business. "I get my best ideas when I'm all good and boozed up."

"Alright, then drink. I don't mind," she conceded, hoping there was a way to reach a compromise with the man. "But try to help us."

"In case you haven't noticed, blondie," he said, leaning forward to pick up a crème pastry from one of the trays that were laid out on the table, "'trying' is probably not gonna work." He leaned back in his chair and dropped the whole pastry into his mouth, vanilla cream dripping from the corners of his mouth as he chewed.

She looked at him as he ate, wondering if this is what twenty-eight years of having children die on his watch did to a person. She could see how that would make someone jaded, but that didn't mean he had to just give up. "That's okay," she tried again. "If you teach us what to do, and we still die, it's not your fault. But if you don't even try to help us, we're doomed already."

He narrowed his eyes at her, almost like he was measuring her up. She hadn't spoken much the previous day, and perhaps he had thought she didn't care about mentoring one way or the other. But she did. "Been working on that one since yesterday, haven't you?" he muttered, almost a snort.

As he moved to take another pastry off the tray, she took advantage and laid a hand on top of his wrist. "Please?" she asked, looking straight at him. He had those typical gray Seam eyes, which reminded her so much of Katniss, Rory, Gale and so many of her friends back home. Surely he couldn't be that bad.

He impudently used his free hand to take hers off his arm. He picked up the pastry he'd been going for and leaned back in his chair again as he took a bite. "Tell you what," he began through a mouth full of baked goods. "If you can get the brat to lay off me so that I can get a drink in every once in a while, I'll teach you both what you want to know."

That was a step up as far as she was concerned and after agreeing, she got up from the table. She left, intent on finding KJ, but not without reminding Haymitch that having lots of water was the wisest thing to do if he was going to start drinking this early. He probably didn't even hear her suggestion.

KJ was not as easy to convince. She was welcomed with a dark glare when she knocked on the door to his room, and it only got even darker when she told him Haymitch had agreed to have a mentoring session with them at lunch. He went off on a rant about how Haymitch couldn't even walk a straight line let alone teach them anything useful and he laughed at her when she mentioned he could help them get sponsors, form alliances, and the like.

He scoffed. "Yeah, right. And who'd want to be allies with me? _You?_ " He rolled his eyes and shook his head, like she was stupid for even bringing it up.

"Why not? I wouldn't mind. You don't seem like a bad kid, KJ, and you're strong. If it helps our chances..." And she wasn't just telling him what she thought he wanted to hear. KJ wasn't as tall as Rory or Gale, nor imposing, and he didn't have much muscle mass because of his malnourishment, but he knew how to fight (with his bare hands, but it was still better than anything she could pull off), and a couple of weeks of eating Capitol food would probably do wonders for his resilience. She could forage for food and, depending on the resources available, she could take care of him if he got wounded. She rather thought they'd make a good team... until they could be a team no longer, at least.

He glared at her again. "It'd be better for your chances if I die. One less person trying to kill you," he muttered bitterly. She almost took a step back, scared by his tone. She'd spent the whole time since she left Twelve thinking of ways to survive the arena itself, but she hadn't even come to terms with the idea that at some point she would be actively _hunted_ by her fellow tributes. And here he was, bringing it up so easily. It shook her. "Besides, it's not like anybody would miss me..."

"Don't say that," she said in a small voice. If KJ, whose odds of winning might not be great but were certainly better than hers, was already giving up, what hope was there for her? "I don't want you to die. And I'm sure there's someone back home waiting for you. Your mother, or a friend..." She sighed. "Look, just give it a shot. If after talking to Haymitch you still feel like he's not helping at all, then I'll stop bothering you about this." She shrugged. "It's just a conversation. And you have to eat at some point, anyway."

He grudgingly agreed to show up for lunch if she could get Haymitch to stop drinking around them. Which, of course, she couldn't, and wouldn't as she'd already told the older man she wouldn't mind if he "had a drink every once in a while." But if Haymitch poured half a bottle of liquor into his juice glass before her fellow tribute arrived at the dining compartment, well, what KJ didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

By the time they made it down for lunch, Haymitch was marginally less wasted, which worked for her but wasn't good enough for KJ. So, needless to say, their mentoring session didn't quite start off on the right foot. Still, they managed to get through the basics of survival in the arena, their respective strengths and weaknesses and how much of them to show the other tributes during training.

After learning she was a healer, Haymitch recommended certain stations in the training center, and told her to stick to those. Mostly it was the survival skills package, for example: climbing, fires, knots, shelters, and the like. She was to stay away from any stations where her knowledge of plants, chemicals or first-aid could be recognized. He also told her to stay away from weapons training; she wouldn't learn anything valuable in only two weeks, and her strategy for the arena was more on the side of staying away from everybody else. It seemed Haymitch was very much on the same page with Gale, who had given her similar advice before she left Twelve.

KJ, for his part, was instructed to stick with agility stations like the Gauntlet, climbing, the rope course, and such. He could spend some time at the survival skills stations, but by no means should he try the boxing, hand-to-hand combat or wrestling stations. Haymitch also immediately shot down the boy's suggestion that he should train with a weapon, which immediately put KJ on the defensive again.

"There's no point to it. It's not your strength, and you probably won't have a weapon in the arena," their mentor sentenced, taking a big gulp of his (laced) orange juice.

"There'll be weapons at the Cornucopia," KJ retorted, frowning at him.

"Which you'll be staying away from," Haymitch intervened with a dismissive roll of his eyes. KJ tensed, his hand fisting tightly around the handle of the fork he was holding. Funny that they were arguing over weapons, because he was certainly glaring daggers at the older man. "Unless you want to get killed by a Career, that is."

KJ let out a frustrated groan and stood up abruptly, his chair actually toppling over as he pushed it back inadvertently. The fork caused a large "clank" as he dropped it on top of his almost-empty plate. "I can take them!" he exclaimed, leaning forward, leveling his weight on his arms against the table, as he glowered at the man across from him.

Her first instinct was to try and smooth things out before things escalated. Again. "I don't think that's a good--"

Unfortunately, her weak attempt at mediation got cut short when Haymitch interrupted her. "Sure, maybe you can drown them in rain from that dark cloud that's always hanging over your head," he spat out, his words dripping contempt.

Almost growling, the boy pulled back and the moment his hands moved off the table, Prim found herself ducking away; she was sure he was about to take another swing at their mentor and instinctively tried not to wind up in the middle of it. He didn't, though. Instead he stomped away from the dining compartment, kicking his fallen chair to the side to get it out of his way, not without screaming "I _told_ you he'd be like this!" right in her face as he passed her by.

It wasn't until the compartment door closed behind him, and her and Haymitch were left in tense silence, that she felt the need to say something. "You should give him a break, you know," she started, feeling discouraged about everything. "I think he just doesn't trust adults. It would be easier if you weren't so hard on him."

"He's reckless," came Haymitch's reply. He wasn't looking at her; instead he was moving the tip of one finger over the circumference of his glass, making Prim wonder if he was thinking, or maybe remembering. "Smart, and seems to have good instincts, but he's reckless. That's not good. Reminds me of someone I used to know."

"One of your previous tributes?" she asked, curious.

"No."

She watched him as he picked up his glass and took another big gulp of its contents. He seemed bothered by something; she'd never seen him look so serious before. "Can I ask you something?" she questioned, once again breaking the silence.

"If I say no, will that stop you?" he retorted, tilting his glass from side to side slightly, so as to mix its contents. He was almost done with his drink, but of course, there was no shortage of liquor on the train if he wanted to get more. According to Effie, there was an entire bar compartment.

She decided to ignore his clearly sarcastic response and formulated her question anyway. "Your Games... you won the second Quarter Quell, right?" He didn't say anything, barely even acknowledged that she was addressing him, but she kept on. "How did you win?"

He kept quiet for over a minute, and she was beginning to think he wasn't going to answer her at all. But eventually he did. "When I was in the Games, they had double the amount of tributes than usual." She nodded; she was too young to have seen his Games, but she had heard about it from other people.

There was always a twist to the rules in a Quarter Quell. For the 75th Hunger Games, in order to remind them that "even those who think they're safe can still pay the price," the tributes' age range had been expanded five years up, and five years down. A seven-year-old boy was reaped in District Five; he'd barely managed to run away from the bloodbath in tears when he was scared by a snake mutt that came out of nowhere and fell off a cliff. It was one of the most horrifying, sickening moments she'd ever had to witness in the Games.

Haymitch had continued speaking as she thought back on it. "There were too many tributes, so I tried to stay at the edges of the arena, where less people could find me." He tipped his glass back and gulped down the rest of his drink quickly. "Guess it made my odds better."

"But you must've come across at least some of them along the way," she tried to get him to tell her more. She knew the arena she'd be stepping into wouldn't be the same as his was, nor would the other tributes be similar, but if there was one thing she could learn from his experience, it was what the Gamemakers wanted to see happen. Why they did the things they did. But she could only know that if he told her. "I mean... you must have." She had heard of at least one tribute who had won without killing anyone, but somehow she doubted Haymitch fit that description.

He didn't confirm nor deny her affirmation, but she took it as a yes anyway. "We can't avoid them forever," she stated. "So wouldn't it be a good idea to learn some fighting techniques or weapons? Maybe it could help when I get to that point."

"It's a gamble," he explained. "You don't want to show them your strengths, but you also don't want to show them your weaknesses." He finally put his glass down on the table and, leaning back, crossed his arms over his chest. "If they see you bumbling with a sword or a bow, they'll either think you're faking it and target you for it, or they'll think you're weak and target you for it. It's a big risk to take."

Now she understood that logic a little better, and she felt a little more confident with the "stay away as long as possible" plan, but it still terrified her that, were she to ever fortuitously come across her competition, she'd be completely at their mercy. "But what if I need to defend myself from another tribute? What do I do then?"

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, quiet. Then he spoke again. "There's only one thing you need to know about defending yourself. One thing only." He leaned forward, pushing his glass slightly to the side so he could lean his forearms against the table. "Everyone, everything, has a weak point. A chink in the armor. You just have to look for it." He nodded at her, as if emphasizing the point. "And when it jumps out at you, you hit it with everything you've got."

Those last words had stayed with her. She didn't get much sleep that night either, and since they arrived at the Capitol at around midnight, rest was even harder to come, despite the luxurious, extra-comfortable bed she had been assigned when they arrived at the Remake Center.

One last bit of advice Haymitch had given them was to trust their stylists implicitly. And so here she was, ready to put herself in her stylist's hands. She met with her stylist, Cinna, a little before dinner.

So far, her stay at the Remake Center had consisted of a lot of washing, scrubbing, moisturizing, various methods of body hair removal, and the like, until she reached a state her prep team called "beauty base zero." Her prep team was... okay. They pitter-pattered around her all excited, repeatedly congratulating her and talking about how happy she must've been to be able to leave those dreadful living conditions in her district.

It bothered her that they thought this way, but she couldn't fault them for it; this was simply the way people thought in the Capitol, the way their children were raised. It was sad that they were so shallow and self-centered, but it was obvious they didn't do it out of maliciousness or arrogance. At least they were nice about it. Octavia kept telling her how pretty her hair was (even if it was "just" blond).

She hadn't known what to expect of the Capitol's "fashion genius." Cinna and his fellow co-stylist, Portia, had been styling the District Twelve tributes for the past five years, and they had been some of the most memorable Games for the district. Not enough to get their tributes in the top half-- style could only take you so far in the arena-- but they'd managed to score a few Capitol sponsors, something that was generally unheard of in Twelve.

Compared to the silly costumes other districts were usually put in, Prim had to admit Cinna and Portia's designs were masterpieces. Completely new and different each year, never predictable, and always making a lasting impression. As much as she admired his designs, though, she'd been a little worried about meeting the man in person. For some reason she had imagined someone with such artistic genius would be stuck-up or mean.

Thankfully, he was anything but. For starters, he didn't look anything like the rest of the people from the Capitol did: his clothes were simple, neutral in color, the only sign of anything sparkly on him being a thin line of gold eyeliner drawn above his lashes. His voice was soft, muted, everything about him very understated and nothing like she had imagined he would be.

She liked Cinna very much. He never once congratulated her on the "honor" of being chosen as a tribute, and instead offered any form of help he could give her. His presence was calming and he sounded so very wise. He didn't put on a show of pretending she had a chance of winning the Games, like some of her other handlers, such as Effie Trinket, had-- that lie she would never believe-- but still made her feel like he believed in her, like her giving her best was good enough for him. She really appreciated that.

Now it was her second day at the Remake Center, and he hadn't made his appearance yet. She hoped nothing unexpected had happened. Prim looked down at her nails as she waited; she didn't think she'd ever seen her nails so clean. Not that she wasn't a clean person; as a healer she knew more than anyone the value of personal hygiene. Still, things could only get so clean in the Seam, because of all the coal dust.

Right away she shook her head. She shouldn't start thinking of the Seam, because it would only remind her of Rory, and Katniss, and home, and everybody, and she'd end up crying again. The only problem was, there wasn't much else she could think about here. The room she was in was almost scarily empty, just four gray walls with nothing in it but the examination table she was sitting on. The table itself was really tall; she'd had to make an effort to sit on it, and every few minutes she found herself swinging her legs back and forth like a little kid would, just to have something to do.

She wondered why Cinna was running late. Maybe him and Portia were finishing up last-minute details. Waiting was a little scary-- it gave her time to think about everything that was happening to her, and that probably wasn't a good idea, especially not just a few minutes before being presented to Capitol audiences on a live broadcast. Now was not the time to psych herself out. She wondered how her fellow tribute was faring right now. Knowing KJ, he was probably feeling angry at the moment.

Less than five minutes later, Cinna walked into the room, carrying a black garment bag with him and apologizing for the delay. He and Portia were making last-minute adjustments to their designs, and time had run away from them in the creative process. She was simply glad he was there; just his presence was enough to quell her anxiety, even if just a little.

He seemed to notice this, and he looked at her with a concerned expression, like somehow he knew exactly what she was feeling. She knew he couldn't, not really; a Capitol man like him would have never gone through anything even remotely similar to this. But it still made her feel better, just a little. Like she wasn't completely alone. "How are you doing?" he asked her.

She took a deep breath, then exhaled in a sigh. "I'm okay," she admitted. As okay as she could be, at least. "I was just thinking that I really don't like this room," she said remembering her ponderings from a few minutes back. She looked around again, taking in the grey walls and the cold environment. "It feels so... sterile."

He smiled slightly. "I like to think they made these rooms this way so that you would stand out," he told her. He almost sounded like a teacher, there was a very wise quality to his tone. "Our job is to style you so that you can make the best possible impression. That means we have to really know what we're working with. The more I can appreciate you, the easier it is for me to make you unforgettable." His smile widened, warmly.

She tried to give him a smile back, to show her appreciation. She knew what he was saying wasn't really true; in all likelihood, the Capitol had made these rooms this way as a reminder for the tributes of how bleak their future was, to show them that all the commodities they had at the moment were nothing but temporary, as they were basically on death row. But even so, she liked Cinna's version better. "It doesn't matter," she said, with a small shrug. "At least it's better than the other room I was in. That one made me feel like I was about to have surgery."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a horrible thought crossed her head: _Could_ they put her through surgery? They could force any kind of drug on her and she wouldn't even know. If they wanted to modify her appearance more drastically, there was nothing she could do to stop them. The idea of being forced into the outrageous body-modification fashion trends she'd seen on some Capitol people scared her senseless.

Cinna must've seen her eyes widen and understood her fear by her expression alone. "They'll ask, but I'm sure we can come to a compromise. Don't worry, I won't let them do anything permanent to you." He patted one of her hands lightly, trying to be comforting. She gave him a small smile. "Alright, then. Let's talk about what you'll be wearing tonight." He sat down beside her on the examination table. "As you know, we have to dress you in something representative of your district."

"We're not going to be coal miners, are we?" she asked, a little wary. When she was younger, the tributes from Twelve would always be dressed as coal miners. It was straightforward and there was nothing impressive about it. When Cinna and Portia became the District Twelve stylists, they changed things. Prim hoped this wouldn't be the year they decided to go back to the old costumes-- mainly because they were tacky, but also because... well, her father's life had ended in a miner's uniform. She didn't want _her_ life to end the same way.

He laughed, apparently finding her apprehension charming. "No, that's not what we had in mind. Tell me, do you know what anthracite is?"

She nodded. They had learned about it in school. "It's a type of coal. It has the highest luster, highest carbon count, and lowest amount of impurities," she recited, almost mechanically. "It accounts for about one percent of all coal production in the district." Everything about coal had been ingrained into her mind at school-- even if she was never going to need it, it was all they were taught.

Not being able to hear the gloomy turn her thoughts had taken, Cinna leaned in, almost like he meant to tell her a secret. "It's also the hardest to burn," he pointed out, then signaled for her to wait a second as he picked up the garment bag and pulled it open to reveal the main piece of his design.

She peeked in and took a good look at the black unitard that was inside. She stretched her hand to touch the fabric. It was stretchy but didn't feel confining, it was soft to the touch, and the light reflected on it when it moved, the shine creating patterns on the walls like a kaleidoscope. It was simple, but absolutely breathtaking. And a world apart from anything she had ever worn in her entire life.

"You're not afraid of fire, are you?" Cinna asked as she ran her hand over the cloth. Seeing her eyes widen almost comically, he laughed again. "Don't worry, we're not going to set you on fire." She was about to let out a sigh of relief when he added: "Can't say the same for your chariot, though."

She stared at him, trying to figure out if he was joking. He noticed. "Don't worry, it's perfectly safe." He zipped up the garment bag and left it hanging from a hook on the wall as he turned back to her. "Haymitch told me about what happened with your sister at the Reaping," he commented as he stood up.

She felt a pang in her heart, as she always did whenever someone mentioned her sister. She missed her so much. How was she coping? Had she been punished for what she did? "She shouldn't have done that," she whispered, her tone betraying her fears. She just hoped Katniss was okay.

"I thought it was very brave of her," Cinna said, lightly tugging at her hand so that she would stand up from the table as well. He lifted her face up with a finger on her chin, so she could look up at him. "And I can see you have some of that in you as well."

She shook her head. "I only wish I could be as strong as her. But I'm not."

"You are," he assured her, settling his hands on her shoulders supportively. "You may not see it yourself, but I think you're both cut from the same mold. You're strong. And tonight, all of Panem is going to see that." He smiled at her. "Tonight, you're going to show everybody that coal can also shine."

She tried to give him a smile; her bravest smile. "Now come on, it's time for make-up." She nodded and, taking a deep breath to shake off the uneasiness, followed him out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Prim gets to be the Girl On Fire... sort of. Hmm, I wonder what OTHER title of her sister's she's going to take...? ;3 -whistles innocently- Nerdy note of the day: as our girl explained up there, anthracite is a type of coal that is shinier than regular coal, and burns with a blue, smokeless flame. Nothing you'd make a necklace out of, but I think it's really interesting, so I wanted to make an analogy out of it. Google it if you can!
> 
> Guys, this chapter is so full of foreshadowing, I'm practically choking on it. =X Oh, and I should warn you, in case you haven't noticed yet, that now that the plot is rolling, the chapters will be getting a little longer. Not terribly long (thank God!), but where I was averaging 8-ish pages, now I'm averaging around 11. There's just so much happening! I hope that doesn't bother you-- I personally prefer reading longer chapters, but that may just be me.
> 
> Be sure to let me know what you thought of the chapter, particularly KJ and how Prim's coping with this whole thing! I'm curious. =)


	16. Gale: Blackout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 16: Blackout_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU-- this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

"You're late."

Gale looked down at his baby sister, who was half glaring, half pouting at him, and wondered, not for the first time, how so much bossiness could be enclosed in such a tiny package. It was funny to him; his mother had things that made her mad (like _soot_ \-- she was a washerwoman after all), but she was generally the more permissive one in the family, letting her sons make their own decisions so long as it didn't get them in trouble. Instead, little Posy was the one who cracked the whip on them. It didn't help that she had had him wrapped around her little finger since she was born, so he usually let her have her way even when he didn't want to.

Then again, maybe her being strict was a good thing. Some time from now (like, you know, fifteen, or better yet, twenty years later), when boys' hands started to get a little loose and their tongues a little too syrupy, she'd be able to show them who's boss. So there was the silver lining. In the meantime, though, he was at the mercy of her wrath.

Apparently she'd been expecting some sort of explanation on his part and when she didn't get one, her hands went to her hips. "You're not supposed to be out this late today!" she reminded him, though of course he knew that. The Tribute Parade was mandatory watching. "You'll get in trouble, Gale!" She wiggled a finger at him, and he had to hold back a smile.

"It's fine, Pose," he said, dropping a hand on his sister's head. "I'm here now. The broadcast hasn't started yet, has it?"

"No," she admitted, a little reluctant. "Still, you should've been here half an hour ago! Everybody from the mines already came through here," she added as he dropped his hat on the table. "Bristel even stopped by, asking where you'd disappeared off to. He gave Mom a flower."

"I'm going to punch his teeth in," he muttered to himself, taking the chance as he was currently turned away from Posy. Bristel thought it was hilarious to hit on his mother whenever he saw her. He wasn't serious, of course; he only did it to annoy him, Gale knew, but so far it never failed. It didn't help that his mother only shook her head amusedly whenever it happened. He tried to sound more agreeable as he turned back toward his very impressionable sister-- or at least as agreeable as he could manage. "Probably some sort of weed. Better throw it out, I think."

"Vick already did," said Posy with a shrug. Gale nodded. At least he had the comfort that his brothers agreed with him that Bristel's jokes were anything _but_ funny. Sometimes he wondered why he was even friends with the guy. "Where were you, anyway?" Posy asked, curious.

"Just around," he shrugged as he started to take off his work gloves. In truth, he'd stopped by the Everdeen house, though he wasn't really sure what compelled him to do so. There was nothing there for him to check up on; even the cat had left. Still a little miffed from his encounter with the Peacekeepers that morning, he'd originally decided to take the long route home, but his feet took him to Katniss's place without him noticing. Telling Posy he'd been dawdling near someone else's house for no reason would serve no purpose, though. "Is Rory here yet?"

"Yeah, he got back a while ago," she nodded. "He's in the bedroom. You don't wanna go there, though," she added hurriedly. "He saw me playing with Buttercup when he walked in, and he just locked himself in there. He hasn't come out in like an hour," she finished with a downcast expression.

"The cat's here?" he asked, surprised. He took a look toward their television set and there the thing was, sitting on their couch like it owned the place, while Vick sat on the floor, waiting for the broadcast to start, biting down onto a piece of bread (probably stale) that Rory must've brought with him from the bakery.

He looked down the hallway and toward the bedroom, and sure enough, the door was closed. This was inconvenient for all of them because it was everybody's room (his mom and Posy slept in one bed, Vick and Rory in another, and Gale, being the one that occupied the most space, slept in a patched-up mattress on the floor). "Great," he grumbled. He'd been hoping to change out of the clothes he was wearing; they were caked with dirt not only from the mines, but also from the Town Square. "Now what do we do?"

"I call the couch for tonight," Vick piped in from his spot in front of the TV.

"You'll have to fight the fur ball for it," Gale replied, with a roll of his eyes. He had half a mind to walk to the back and just pound on the door until Rory came out of his funk. He knew he missed Prim, they all did, but the way he was pulling back into himself wasn't helping things. At least when Gale was in a bad mood, he tended to go out into the forest where he wouldn't bother anyone. Rory just retreated, and it was starting to upset Posy. And what if Peacekeepers decided to check on their house tonight and found he wasn't watching the Opening Ceremonies? Rory just wasn't thinking.

He was distracted from this idea by his mother walking in through the front door. "Oh, Gale, you're back. Good." She was carrying a basket with chewed-up linens, which led him to believe she'd been at the back, tending to Prim's goat, which they were taking care of. She walked up to him. "It doesn't still sting, does it?" she asked, taking a closer look at the angry scratches on his cheek.

"It's fine," he replied dismissively. When he'd stopped by his house before the second shift at the mines, he'd told his mother he'd hurt his cheek because he'd been a little too careless at work. He had to endure a small lecture from her, but he'd take it as long as she didn't find out how he'd _really_ gotten the scrape. When everybody had asked why Katniss hadn't been around the past few days, he fed them the same "running off into the forest" story he'd given the Peacekeepers. They were all upset. He didn't want to make his mother worry about him on top of everything else. Thankfully, it seemed she'd been too busy that day to hear the truth from someone else, but obviously he couldn't hide it forever; District Twelve was much too small for that.

After some banter about his dropping his soot-covered gloves off on the table _where everybody ate_ , she directed him to the dinner she'd prepared out of the last of the jerky they had saved up. They'd have to go without meat until he could get back to the forest on Sunday. _If_ he could get back to the forest on Sunday. Now that they had a new Head Peacekeeper, it might be too risky.

As he was serving himself the food, he saw his mother sneak a peek toward the back with a sigh; Rory was the only one who hadn't eaten yet. He was about to tell her not to worry about Rory, when Vick announced the broadcast was about to start. Posy picked the cat up so they could reclaim their couch, and they all sat down to watch: his mother hopeful, and the kids speculating on what Prim's costume would look like.

Part of him wished he could be as unconcerned about this as his siblings were. In reality, he was so disgusted he could barely push his food down his throat. As far as everybody was concerned, the Tribute Parade was the least threatening part of the Games; worst case scenario, you had a hideous costume that attracted no sponsors, but you still had your chance with the training scores and the interview. For Gale, however, it was possibly the part of this whole thing he hated the most. The idea of these kids, being paraded in front of the people who had sentenced them to death just so that Capitol big-wigs could choose which one they would "generously decide to help" made him sick to his stomach.

Moreover, the idea of Prim, sweet little Prim, whom everybody adored simply for being herself, being hypocritically cheered on by these people who didn't know anything about her, didn't care for her one bit, and her being forced to kiss up to Capitol degenerates who were doing nothing but destroying her family... who were destroying _his_ family... it made his blood boil.

As the chariots started rolling down the Avenue, he actually had to set his plate down on the floor, in fear that he might break it, he was so incensed. He thought he saw the cat eye the plate curiously, but apparently Gale's scraps were not enough for it to give up its comfortable spot on Posy's lap.

For the most part, the costumes seemed fairly predictable. Some of them were not terrible. The tributes from One were covered in so many sequins, they could barely see their faces on camera; Gale thought it was stupid, but the Capitol people were sure to like that. The girl from Ten was on the older, taller side this year, so their stylists thought to put her in a form-fitting tan leather catsuit that made her attributes very obvious. But she was so serious, frankly, she just looked scary instead of provocative. Gale mentally added her to his list of opponents to keep an eye on.

There were also the more ridiculous costumes. Seven had gone from dressing up as trees the previous years (which was bad enough) to being decked out from head to toe in some sort of plaid fabric that actually changed colors. Vick commented that he got dizzy just looking at it. The pair from Four had sparklers attached to their gigantic, fin-like shoulder pieces. He had no clue what that had to do with fishing; Templesmith and Flickerman attempted to explain some sort of "theme" but it still didn't make much sense to him.

Posy speculated they were trying to make their designs more flashy since Twelve had gotten new stylists a few years back, and outshined them all. He seemed to remember her chatting about this with Prim during previous Games but he couldn't be bothered; he could care less about fashion, after all.

And then District Twelve made its way down the Avenue of the Tributes.

The first thing that called his attention was the flames: blue flames, burning all around the edge of the chariot, not tall enough to obscure the view of the tributes but certainly bright. Posy gasped at the sight, immediately asking if the fire was real. Probably not, as the flames licked at the fabric covering the tribute boy's elbow as he waved at the crowd, but he didn't seem to be getting burned. But whatever it was, it was a hundred times more impressive than Four's sparkler fail.

Both Prim and the boy were dressed similarly, in what seemed like full-body suits, almost like jumpsuits but fitted. The fabric was dark and lustrous, and seemed to shine, or more like it reflected the light from the fire as it hit them from different angles. The boy had his dark Seam hair slicked back so that it almost looked like it was part of the costume. But even though he was taller, he was virtually nothing beside Prim, whose hair was pulled back in a braid, the hues from the fire enhancing the golden highlights in it. Her eyes looked bluer than he had ever seen them.

She wasn't waving but she was smiling, though he could see some nervousness behind it when the camera came in for a close-up. Gale wasn't a fan of the spectacle, and he preferred the simple, delicate beauty of the Prim he knew and loved, but even he had to admit she made for an impressive sight. Out of the great designs they'd seen from Twelve in the past few years, this was definitely the best of the best. The Capitol people were going crazy with it; the clapping and cheering was so loud, it was hard to hear Flickerman as he cited anthracite as the inspiration behind their costumes.

All four of them (five, if you counted the cat) fell silent as the chariot reached the last stretch of the alley. He couldn't tell what each of them were thinking, all he knew was that this was sure to get Prim at least some sponsors. As much as he saw this parade as just another form of humiliation for the districts, if it could help save Prim's life, he'd grit his teeth and deal with it.

"She looks beautiful, doesn't she?"

All of them turned around at the same time, to look behind them at the person who had spoken up, barely a whisper, rough and pained. And there was Rory, leaning against the corner of the hallway, his eyes fixated on the television screen. They'd been so focused on the broadcast, they hadn't even heard him come out of the bedroom.

His mother looked like she wanted to say something to him, and she actually got up from the couch and made her way to him, but when he didn't even react to her movement, she must have decided there wasn't much she could say other than: "Yes, she does." She put an arm around him and rubbed at his shoulder comfortingly. Posy seemed upset, and she buried her nose in the cat's fur like it was some sort of plush toy. Vick had to remind them all that President Snow was about to make his address.

The high from Prim's entrance lasted about as long as the flames on her chariot did: the moment they came in front of the podium where the President was standing, the fire was out. When the man started speaking, Gale felt the disgust come back to him, full-force. He was sure he wasn't the only one feeling this way this time, if the grimace on both Vick and his mother's face was any indication. The moment the President moved on to saluting the tributes for "their courage and their sacrifice," Rory had had enough. "I can't take this anymore," he rasped out and, lightly pushing out of his mother's embrace, he made to leave.

"Rory, don't--" his mother tried to stop him from going outside, but he was already halfway to the door.

"What is he doing? The Peacekeepers will see him!" Posy exclaimed, now obviously scared, as he disappeared from sight.

Gale sighed, feeling both worried and annoyed at the same time. "I'll get him," he stated. He picked up his almost empty plate and handed it to Posy so she could wash it while he was out looking for Rory. Then he got off the couch with a groan and walked around it, determined to bring his brother back before he made an even bigger mess out of this whole thing.

Just as he was crossing the threshold, though, Vick spoke up, effectively stopping him. "Guys, I think something's happening."

They all turned to the TV set, the issue with Rory not forgotten but momentarily paused because of the urgency in Vick's voice. As Snow had continued speaking, scratches, jumps and interference started showing up on screen, cutting off his words every few seconds, like it sometimes happened when the signal was about to crash. "What's going on? Is the electricity going out?" Posy questioned, curious. By then they could barely make sense of whatever the President was saying, the signal was so choppy.

"That never happens during the Games," Vick replied, practically taking the words out of Gale's mouth. It wasn't strange for electricity to go out in Twelve, especially in the Seam, and the TV signal was usually weak at best. Not during the Games, though. That's the one time when the Capitol made sure everything was working properly, because everybody had to watch, no excuses. In twenty-three years of this, Gale could not remember even one instance when the signal for the Games was not perfect.

"Maybe it's our television," he suggested. Quite frankly he wouldn't mind if their TV finally bit the dust; he'd had enough of the Capitol shoving their propaganda down their throats to last a lifetime. Not that they wouldn't immediately issue them a new one, but still. And without a TV they wouldn't know what was going on with Prim, so he had to at least tinker with the dials to see if he could fix it.

The transmission never changed, of course, because the Games aired in every channel, but the interference grew steadily worse, the images becoming more shaky and distorted by the second, until finally the signal went out, leaving the screen completely dark. "Did the TV break down?" his mother questioned, cautious. Gale was about to reply that he thought so, when a phrase, in bold, white block letters, slowly appeared on the screen.

**THIS IS WHAT THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO SEE.**

"What the...?" he started, not quite sure what was going on. Was the Capitol playing some sort of trick on them, or was this something else altogether? Before he even knew what he was going to ask, the screen changed to a familiar scene. A _very_ familiar scene.

Posy gasped. "Is that _Katniss_?"

It was. The clip wasn't shot from close range, and it was hard to distinguish faces, but the sight of the Justice Building in the back and the Town Square surrounded by railroad cars loaded with wooden boxes with the "Capitol Coal" logo stenciled on left no doubt that it was District Twelve. The amount of people gathered there made it clear that it was Reaping Day. And that scuffle in the middle of the frame, a dark-haired woman being forcibly pulled back by two Peacekeepers... that was definitely Katniss.

"What is this...?" the question broke away from his mother's lips just as Katniss punched Mendel on-screen. Interference started bursting in again, and for a second the image was completely obscured by screen scratches, only to come back on as him and Mellark burst from the crowd to take Katniss away. It felt like an out-of-body experience, watching himself on the television.

The signal became worse and worse as the clip progressed, getting very shaky and distorted by the point Darius let them go without punishment, and just as they were leaving the square, the television finally went off. Along with all the lights in the house.

"Oh, man..." came Vick's groan as they found themselves in complete darkness. Gale could barely see his brother's face thanks to the moonlight coming in from the window.

"What was that, Mom?" Posy asked, more focused on what she'd just seen on television than about the lack of electricity, which happened often enough that it came as no surprise. "Why were Katniss and Gale and Peeta on TV?" She held the cat tightly in her arms and it started to meow annoyingly.

"I'm sure someone at the TV station just made a mistake, honey," his mother replied, though he knew from her vague tone that she probably didn't believe it herself. He, too, was sure there was something fishy going on. Still, he agreed that it wasn't a good idea to speculate about it in front of the kids (although the way Vick rolled his eyes told him he probably had some theories of his own). "Posy, come help me get some candles from the back. I think last week we used up the last few we had out here."

"But what about Rory?" she asked, still worried.

"He can't get in trouble for not watching the broadcast if there's no broadcast," Gale pointed out, poking his sister lightly in the shoulder. The cat tried to scratch at his hand, so he tried to swat its grubby paw away. "Now go do what Mom says."

What he told Posy about Rory was true, and he and his mother agreed that if there was no immediate chance that he might get in trouble, it was better to let him cool off for a while. He'd come back on his own when he was feeling better. So instead of going out to look for him, the entire family spent the next half hour in their candle-lit living room: his mother took the time to mend some of their clothes, Vick fell asleep and was halfway falling off the couch, and Gale got roped by Posy into a game of "what's that shadow." Prim's cat looked just as discontent to be dragged into the game as he did, but they both grudgingly went along with it.

As Posy was trying to make the shadow somehow look like a princess only by using the cat's tail, Gale thought he'd had enough of the game for now. "Okay, time to look for your idiot brother now," he told her as he removed her legs from his lap and stood up, stretching the muscles of his back as he did.

"Which one? I have three of those," Posy replied, giving him a cheeky grin.

"Funny," he said, narrowing his eyes at her as he tugged at the end of her ponytail playfully. Just as he was walking around the couch, the door opened and Rory walked in. He had meant to keep his comments to himself, but apparently he didn't know how mad he was at Rory for walking out until he saw him come back. The recriminations flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. "What were you thinking, going out like that in the middle of the broadcast? Don't you know that--"

"There's someone here to see you," Rory interrupted him, his tone almost deadpan. He clearly wasn't in the mood to get into an argument. "Found her wandering around the edge of the Seam in the dark. Said she was looking for you but she didn't know which house was ours." When he took a step to the side Gale could see there was someone standing uncertainly behind him. Someone with blond hair.

"Undersee? What are you doing here?" he asked with a frown.

"Um, hello. I'm so sorry to intrude," she started, somewhat awkwardly, probably sounding like she was speaking to all of them instead of just him. Probably to his mother, who promptly stood up from the couch when she realized just who exactly their guest was. "I... needed to speak with Gale?" she finished, more a question than an affirmation.

"Rory," his mother spoke up. "Come on, I'll reheat you some dinner. Don't start," she added as he opened his mouth, probably to tell her he wasn't hungry. "We can't let that food go to waste, you know that." She turned to their visitor as she walked around the couch. "Miss Undersee, can I offer you anything?"

Gale bristled at his mother, in complete disbelief that she'd actually offer food to _the Mayor's daughter._ What was she thinking? Thankfully, Undersee had enough decency not to allow his mother to waste what little food they had on her. "Oh, no! That's okay, I-- I already had dinner. But thank you," she added, ever polite. That was good enough for his mother and she nodded, pushing Rory toward the stove, not without throwing Gale a _look_ over her shoulder.

He thought it was better if they talked outside the house (Posy wasn't exactly being discreet with her snooping as she was peering at them over the back of the couch, and he was sure Vick would be as well if he weren't already snoring-- well, at least the cat didn't feel the need to be all up in somebody else's business...). Once they were out of the house, they came across Thom who, after gawking at Madge, completely baffled by her presence at the Hawthorne's, let them know that the lights were already back on in Town. As far as the Seam went, this was now just any other blackout.

That's where the difference in their priorities was made obvious, Gale thought. He was more pissed by the fact that they'd be out of electricity until next morning at the very least, while the people from Town had no such problems. Undersee, on the other hand, was beginning to freak out because her father would be worried about her. Figuring that she couldn't get back on her own unless she wanted to spend another half an hour lost in the Seam, he reluctantly offered to walk her home. She could say whatever it was she meant to tell him on their way there.

"Did you see it?" she asked, a little after they started walking through the Seam.

He scoffed. "I think everybody saw it," he stated. He hadn't missed Thom's speculative look-- Gale knew he was wondering what was going on, but Madge's presence deterred him from asking. In four days, Katniss had managed to give Twelve more gossip than they'd had in years: first by sending the Peacekeepers into an uproar, and then "running off" with the baker. By morning, the whole district would be pinning this one on her, too.

"What do you think it means?" she asked, nervously playing with the pleats on her on her skirt. She spoke in a low voice and kept looking around as she walked, like she was expecting a Peacekeeper to jump at them from behind a house any second. "The video started by saying 'this is what _they_ don't want you to see.' Who do you think 'they' are? The Capitol?"

"Yeah," he admitted. Nothing else made sense, considering they'd interrupted a speech by the President himself on a nationwide broadcast. If they _weren't_ intending to piss off the Capitol to begin with, then they were very stupid people to do that. "Seems pretty clear that someone out there meant to get the districts buzzing."

"And they're using Katniss to do that," she sentenced. He'd be lying if he said that word, "using," didn't give him pause. He hadn't thought of it in that way before. "Because that's what they're doing, right? You don't think Katniss is involved with this."

Could she be? He knew Katniss detested the Capitol almost as much as he did, and he knew _he'd_ join a rebellion without thinking about it twice if there was any way for him to get in contact with them. But, no; he knew Katniss: the only reason why she had gone to the Capitol was to save Prim. And until she was out of the Games, that would be her only priority. He shook his head. "No. Not while Prim is still in danger. And anyway, it's only been two days. That's not nearly enough time." His eyes narrowed. "You're right. They're using her."

He saw her take a deep breath, and then nod. He wondered if that was a relief for her, or if it just made her worry even more. "You haven't heard anything about this?" he asked. News of a rebellion might be "classified information" or whatever it was she had called it before, but maybe her father had let something slip, you never knew.

Much to his frustration, she shook her head. "I had no idea. I literally just sat there like an idiot wondering what was going on until Katniss appeared on-screen." She let out a mirthless chuckle and shook her head, like she was disappointed it took her that long to understand. "I don't think my dad knew, either. When the lights went out, he told me to stay in the house and ran out. He seemed really agitated." She wrapped her arms around her torso. "Do you think it's a full-on rebellion?"

"I don't know," he told her. "I don't know anything." He sighed, trying to contain his own eagerness. There was nothing he wanted more than to be able to fight, take his family and his district away from the oppression and force those pigs at the Capitol to pay for all they'd suffered. But everything was a big blank right now, and he wasn't the type to grasp at shadows. "If we could know what's going on in the other districts, maybe..."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her bite her lower lip, and immediately he knew she must've known something she wasn't telling him. "What?" he questioned, not about to let her keep it to herself. If she knew anything that was happening outside the fences, he wanted to know, too.

She took a breath, like steeling her resolve, and whispered: "Eleven is under martial law."

His steps halted and he grabbed her by the elbow, effectively stopping her as well. He was already firing questions before his head had a chance to process what she had just told him. "What? Why? Has there been rioting?" Mob-handling was usually the main reason why the Capitol used martial law on the districts, not that he'd ever lived through it in Twelve.

She shook her head. "I don't know," she sounded apologetic about not having more information. "All the news report said was that interrogations would continue until the culprit was found," she pronounced the last part with a certain rhythm in her voice, like she was quoting it exactly as she had heard it.

He frowned, something about that not sitting well with him. "Culprit?" he wondered. Normally he wouldn't get hung up on semantics, but he found the wording strange. "That sounds more like whatever happened was an individual crime, instead of an insurgence," he stated. He saw her nod, and understood she must've been thinking the same thing. "You don't know anything else?"

She shrugged and told him that was all the news report said. He let go of her arm, which he'd only just realized he was still holding onto, and they kept going. It wasn't a good idea to stand around in a dark corner of the Seam at night, especially when the lights were out and all they had to navigate around was moonlight. The rest of the walk was mostly silent, in his case because he was ruminating on the possibilities. She remained contemplative as well, though he didn't really care to ask what she was thinking of.

As they reached the edge of Town, they began seeing the first signs of Peacekeepers on patrol, so Gale decided it was better to take the back alley route instead. As his current companion pointedly reminded him, he wasn't in good standing with their new Head Peacekeeper, and it would probably be best if he wasn't caught loitering around Town at high hours of the night for no reason. So they took the route he usually used when trading game with the merchants, a route that took them to the Undersees' backyard and the back entrance to the house.

"Thanks for walking me home," the girl said as she walked up to the door, once again using that bland, irrevocably polite tone she had so perfected. She lightly bit her lip, chagrined. "When I saw Katniss on the TV I kind of-- freaked out, I guess? I had to know if it was just me. I'm sorry, I hate to be a bother..."

"It's fine," he grunted, cutting her off before her rambling caught steam. In all honesty he should be mad at her, making him come all the way to Town in the middle of the night, and now to make matters worse he still had to go back home. Truth be told he _was_ a little annoyed at her, but with all that was going on with this interrupted broadcast, he had more important things to think about. He wouldn't admit it out loud but he could understand that she was worried about Katniss. He was almost going out of his mind with worry, as well, though he was more practiced at not letting it show.

And it wasn't the only thing bothering him, either. "What was that they were building back there, in the square?" They'd only gotten a glimpse of it because they were taking the back roads, but it was clear there was some sort of unfinished wooden structure set up in the Town Square. They must've started working on it that afternoon, because it certainly wasn't there in the morning. It seemed like a sort of stage... or, more disturbingly, a gallows.

"I'm not sure, but it doesn't look like anything good," she replied with a light grimace. Apparently he hadn't been the only one thinking of darker possibilities just then. "Maybe I'll ask on my way to work tomorrow. I can't really think about it today. My head is just not in it." She sighed, then ran a hand over her face, like she was tired. "I wish we knew what's going on. I can ask my father, maybe. If he thinks I'm just worried because of his reaction tonight, he might tell me something to make me feel better."

For a second he almost chuckled. The idea of Undersee trying to charm or guilt her father into giving her information was somehow both grating and amusing-- like when Posy gave him the puppy eyes to get him to play some kiddie game with her. Maybe being the little girl of the house did work some times. But more than that, maybe her words had made the irony of it all finally catch up to him: Gale Hawthorne, District Twelve's most notorious poacher, discussing the possibility of a rebellion with none other than the Mayor's daughter? It was so ridiculous it was almost funny.

But it was hardly the time and place for laughing matters; not when there was the possibility someone out there was working to stir up dissent in the districts, and Katniss may be unknowingly involved. He had to know if this could hit Twelve. He had to know if it could affect Katniss. But as much as he would rather do things on his own, he couldn't exactly go around asking in his circle of acquaintances. She might be able to.

"Let me know if he says anything," he told her. She nodded, still contemplative. "You might wanna wait until I'm in Town, though. Wouldn't want to get lost in the Seam again," he added. He hadn't meant it as a joke, but she laughed lightly. Once more she apologized for bothering him, thanked him for walking her home, and went inside.

He walked all the way back to his house wondering if Katniss was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if Buttercup made it into the movie, I couldn't very well leave him out of this fanfic, now could I? :P This chapter was supposed to be shorter, but I have an inordinate amount of love for the Hawthorne kids, so I couldn't help myself. I guess it's a good thing most of you like longer chapters!
> 
> And speaking of most of you, I just wanted to take a moment to thank those of you who leave a review in every chapter I post (you know who you are). I was expecting to get less reviews than usual last time because it was a Prim chapter, but regardless of the number, I really appreciate those of you who actively wait for my chapters and leave me your comments every time. A lot of people have this on story alerts, but it's not just anyone who reviews. So, thanks to those of you who do. It's not lip service, it really means the world to me, guys. -HUGS-
> 
> And before you look at me weird and ask me if I'm PMS-ing, there's a good reason for the mushiness: 17 was a chapter I just really, _really_ loved writing, and I'm so excited it's finally coming up! Now, because I'm a very nice person, I'll give you a hint: SUGAR CUBES. ;) It may take a while because 23 is going to be a bitch to write, I just know it (-sigh-), but if you review it may help me write faster! I'll see you next time, y'all. :)


	17. Katniss: In Too Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 17: In too deep_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

If anybody had told Katniss as she was making up her mind about this plan that she'd have to pretend to be someone else in order to save her sister... well, she still would have come to the Capitol, of course, but she might have insisted they get someone else to do this.

She was no actress. She was horrible at it. Even if all she had to do was stand around and pick up plates in complete silence (at least she had the "being quiet" part of it down), she knew eventually she would botch it all up. Bad enough she had to pretend to be Peeta's wife in front of the camera crew, now she had to pretend to be an Avox around people she _knew_ could kill her in a second.

Her first assignment was to assist with the lunch service for the Mentors, and it was quite eye-opening for her. It was a small group of Avoxes that did the job, because the food was all laid out so they could take whatever and however much they wanted (which the Chief of Staff called a "buffet"), but they still needed servants to pour the drinks, take the plates away and attend to whatever else they needed.

The Avoxes in her crew were already used to this crowd, but for her it was hard, simply because of the fact that she could never see the Victors as actual people. She didn't know what she had been expecting: probably a bunch of disgusting, miserable drunks like Haymitch Abernathy, or snobbish people who had let their fame and fortune go to their heads, or even bloodthirsty monsters who ate raw meat and growled instead of speaking. She certainly hadn't expected them to laugh, and make jokes, and tell each other anecdotes about their lives over the past year like they were at some sort of school reunion instead of at the Hunger Games. Apparently having to send twenty-three children to their deaths on a yearly basis created some sort of bond between them.

There seemed to be an easy camaraderie between most of them, particularly among the older ones. Haymitch, for example, was one of the most raucous of the group. He had sat at one end of the table, chatting loudly with a tall, dark-skinned man with only one arm who seemed to be about his age or maybe a little older. She learned later he was from District Eleven. The Mentor for District Eight, a woman who was maybe in her late 30's, sat with them as well, every once in a while shaking her head at their antics or adding in a comment with an amused smile on her face.

Near them but not quite with them, the Mentors for districts Five and Ten were conversing in low tones. A few feet away from them sat the mentor for District Three, who was a small, dark-haired man, maybe in his late 50's. The man kept to himself for the most part, eating quietly, pausing every few minutes to readjust his glasses, which seemed to be a little too big on him. He only spoke when someone spoke to him first, but he seemed nice enough when he did.

The Mentor from District Six was absent, though she didn't hear anyone talking about it so perhaps this wasn't an unusual occurrence. The Mentor from District Nine was also missing, but Katniss knew why that was: their last remaining Victor had passed away just a couple of months previous, from an illness. They had announced it on the television when it happened. She didn't know how the tributes from Nine were even going to manage.

The rest of the table was largely occupied by the younger crowd, many of which she had actually seen win their respective Games. She had already figured she'd be seeing some of them: Districts One and Two, for example, had had so many Victors, they could afford to rotate them each year, but usually it was the younger ones who got sent to Mentor, probably because they were more active, more attractive, and fresher in the shallow Capitol sponsors' minds, while the older ones stayed behind and trained the kids in the Districts on how to become successful Career Tributes.

The Mentor for District One was a blond man she knew of only vaguely, maybe in his early 30's, with angular features. She heard the others call him Gloss. Johanna Mason, a young woman from Seven who had won the Games maybe eight or nine years previous, was laughing at some comment he had made. She was almost as boisterous about it as Haymitch and his friend from Eleven were, banging loudly on the table with her hand when she found something particularly funny. She seemed to joke around just as much or maybe even more than the males around her did; apparently she was no longer hiding her toughness, as she had during her Games. Katniss could remember clearly how weak and unassuming she had seemed, up until the point where she slaughtered all of her competition.

Sitting across from Johanna, with a hand leisurely balanced on the back of Gloss's chair, was someone Katniss immediately recognized: a tall, muscular, good-looking blond man who could be around her age, maybe a couple of years older. His name was Cato; he was from District Two and had won the 74th Games. She remembered that year had one of the strongest Career Alliances in recent memory, and they'd quickly decimated their competition up until the point they had no choice but to split up. Eventually it came down to Cato and Thresh, a hulking tribute from Eleven, who had managed to kill two of the Careers, including Cato's district partner. Cato got body armor sent to him by his sponsors, and between that and the sword he'd obtained during the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, he was pretty much invincible, even though the boy from Eleven was physically stronger.

She had felt a chill run down her back when she saw him walk into the room. She could still remember the crazed look in his eyes as he stabbed and slashed at Thresh's body repeatedly. She kept flashing back to that scene even though he was acting about as normal as any young man his age would, a smirk on his face as he made a comment to the person sitting right beside Johanna.

And speaking of flashing back to gruesome scenes, the man Cato was conversing with was none other than Finnick Odair, Mentor from Four and Panem's most notorious playboy. Tall and athletic, with tanned skin, bronze hair and eyes the color of the open sea, handsome Finnick had won the 65th Hunger Games at age 14, the moment he got sent a trident signaling the beginning of the end for all of his competitors, and soon enough he had also won the heart of every woman in the country. Every time news of him came up on the TV, he had a different lady hanging on his arm. Apparently none of them remembered his ruthlessness during the Games, or if they did, it didn't bother them.

It did bother Katniss. Though the man was certainly attractive, there was something about him she couldn't reconcile with. Maybe it was the image of blood splashing on him when he ran his opponents through with his trident, or that his string of conquests made him seem flighty in her eyes. Seeing him in person had not changed her opinion of him; if anything, she was even more wary about him now. While the rest of the Mentors mostly ignored the Avoxes as they moved around the room, several times she had found Finnick's eyes on her. As in, on her _particularly_. It could be that he was trying to undress her with his eyes, or it could be that he was suspicious of her for some reason. Either way, it unnerved her.

So of course, with her luck, her second assignment turned out to be serving breakfast and dinner for the District Four floor. And just when she thought she couldn't be more uncomfortable around the guy, it turned out he had a penchant for going shirtless in the morning. And to make matters worse, she was serving two of the kids who would have to die in order for her sister to come out of the arena alive.

After breakfast was done, the entire group from Four moved to the small sitting room that was off to the side, where the flat-screen television set was. The boy tribute was asking their escort, a tall, unnaturally skinny woman wearing a bright teal wig of straight hair that stretched down to the back of her knees and an equally bright yellow dress, whether they'd be airing the recap of the chariot parade.

This immediately drew Katniss's attention. Regardless of Haymitch's warning not to try and contact Prim, she'd kept trying to get the elevator to take her to the penthouse floor or the tributes lunch room between meal shifts. It was no use; she couldn't get to the those floors without a duly authorized key card, and short of assaulting Effie Trinket in the hallways, she had no way of getting one of those. So as of that moment, she had no way of knowing how Prim was doing, if she was okay, if they were doing all they could to better her chances. She had to at least catch a glimpse of her sister during the Opening Ceremonies.

She was so focused on listening to the woman's response (apparently, the recap was about to start in a few minutes), she didn't realize someone was actually addressing her directly.

"Could you give me some sugar, sweets?"

She turned her head in response to the voice and found Finnick Odair staring straight at her; his hand, holding a lightly steaming cup of tea, was extended in her direction. He must've seen some surprise reflected in her face, because his lips drew into a small smirk. _What did he just ask for?_ For a moment she was too confused to even take it the wrong way.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the boy tribute roll his eyes and mutter under his breath something about "flirting with anything that moved." Apparently the boy wasn't too impressed with Finnick's playboy personality, unlike his district partner, whose eyes kept drifting to their mentor— and his uncovered torso— every few seconds. Finnick turned toward the kids, sounding about as innocent as a fluffy little lamb. "What? I could use a sugar cube for my tea." He gave a wink in the direction of the tribute girl, who blushed, and again he extended his teacup in Katniss's direction, expectantly.

When it finally clicked in her brain that he needed some sugar to sweeten his tea, she walked around the room division toward the dining table and picked up the little bowl containing sugar cubes. When she brought it back for him, the television had already been turned on. The boy tribute was complaining about having to watch the recap when he already knew everything that happened in the parade; he'd been there, after all. Finnick simply signaled for both Tributes to watch anyway.

She stood behind them, near the back wall, as all Avoxes were instructed to, but she made sure to position herself so the glare coming in from the window wouldn't obscure the television screen. The ceremony started shortly; after a brief introduction by Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith, the chariots started rolling down the Avenue of the Tributes. Normally Katniss didn't base her observations about the tributes from the parade, instead waiting until the training scores or the interviews to make up her mind about each of them, but this year, the circumstances were entirely different. These were the people who would try to kill her sister, and this might be the only chance she got to measure them up, so she made sure to pay close attention to every single one of them.

There was the requisite haranguing as Four came up on the screen, both kids whining about the hideous shoulder pieces or the stupid sparklers while their escort insisted that sparklers were the latest trend in the Capitol and they shouldn't complain about something they couldn't understand. Katniss was annoyed by the comments; how could they be so upset about fashion when in just a few days they'd be fighting for their lives in an arena? But of course, they were Career Tributes, so the fact that they looked ridiculous at the parade was probably their greatest worry at that point.

As the chariots rolled down the alley, she made mental notes on the tributes she considered the most imposing; outside the Career Districts, only the girl from Ten looked particularly fearsome. The chariot for Twelve was, of course, the last one down the road and it was a good thing, too, because had they come first, she wouldn't have been able to pay attention to anyone else.

She had to bite down on her lower lip to hold back her gasp. Prim was on fire. Her chariot was on fire and Katniss went through about half a second of utter panic before the sheer beauty of it all finally hit her. Everything, from the straight line of her back to the electric brightness of her blue eyes spoke of confidence, strength. The light from the fire reflected against her costume and bathed her in a kind of ethereal halo that was unlike anything she had ever seen before, in the Games or elsewhere.

The sight tugged inside her. She'd always seen Prim as the one good thing in her life, the one small ray of sunshine in the dreariness that was life in District Twelve. But now, she shone. She wasn't dull coal, but a precious jewel. The stylists had made her into a true ray of sunshine. No, even more than that: she was as radiant as the sun itself. It's like someone had taken every bit of her brilliance, her warmth, the beauty of her soul, and put it out there for everyone to see.

And her smile... that sweet smile was simply Prim. Her Prim. And at that moment, even though she was looking at her on the screen, even though she knew she had to be somewhere in the building, Katniss missed her little sister so much, it was almost a physical pain.

Soon enough, all the chariots had rolled their way down the Avenue and came to a stop in front of the podium from where President Snow would give his address. She readied herself to keep her disgust from showing; that man always gave her the creeps. The President rose from his chair and walked toward the microphone. There was a wide shot of all the chariots as they would look from Snow's position, and then she expected the speech. But it never came. Instead, the shield of Panem came up on screen, accompanied by the anthem, and the transmission ended. She thought that was strange; usually the recap included the President's welcome. The Games didn't officially start until he declared them begun.

With barely a second to spare a look at the clock, the District Four escort was already pushing the two tributes out of their comfortable lounge chairs and toward their respective bedrooms, with the reminder that they had to be at training in fifteen minutes. As they left, she heard the boy tribute wonder aloud if they were ever going to let them know what "big technical difficulties" they had been experiencing the previous night.

Finnick stayed in the room just long enough to put his now-empty teacup down on the coffee table, and turn off the television. Then he followed his charges, but not without giving one last, completely unsubtle, glance in her direction.

Her mind was still buzzing with images of Prim and the parade as she and the other Avox took the used dishes and cutlery downstairs to be washed. The more people they encountered on their way, however, the more curious she became about that last comment she heard before the group from Four left the living room.

Apparently, there had been some sort of technical issue during the broadcast of the Parade the night before, she concluded as she made a beeline for her sleeping quarters as soon as they dropped the dishes off with the washers. Avoxes and other servants kept the service hallways busy, and she couldn't think clearly with so many people bumping into her. Upon finding the room empty she dropped herself on her assigned bed and tried to put her thoughts together.

The fact that they didn't show President Snow's address in the recap was bothering her. The only reason to leave out his welcome speech would be if he hadn't actually given one... but he always did. A change of protocol was very unlikely. It had to be related to the technical problems they had, but then again, she couldn't remember the broadcast of the Games ever having any sort of issues. The Capitol always made sure everything went right, and they had 78 years of experience to iron out any possible flaws in their system.

She wasn't one for conspiracy theories, but this time the conspiracy was all but confirmed. Was the rebellion behind this? Could it be that they found a way to interrupt the President's speech? It was too much to be a coincidence for them not to be. But Haymitch had not mentioned any of this— or of anything at all, really— and she had no way of seeing it with her own eyes. And it's not like she could just ask someone either.

She ran her hands over her face, taking a second to try and make sense of all this. She was pressing the heel of her hands against her eyes to fight back a headache when she heard the door open. She expected it to be one of the Avoxes, wanting to rest for a minute (she shared these quarters with eleven other people, after all), but when she looked up she was surprised to see Finnick Odair standing there. At least he was wearing a shirt this time.

She sprung to her feet immediately, her hands twitching somewhat compulsively. She was acutely aware she didn't have her bow with her. He didn't seem concerned by her standing up abruptly or that she was obviously expecting some kind of attack; he simply closed the door behind him and looked around the room like it was some kind of tourist attraction. "So, where's the husband?" he asked, out of the blue. After one last sweep of the room his eyes finally fell on her. "Oh, did they put you in different rooms? That's gotta suck."

He looked at her like he expected some sort of answer from her, and it confused her so much, his comment about her "husband" didn't strike her as odd right away. She couldn't reply, so she limited herself to staring back at him, her puzzlement and distrust evident in her expression. By the time she finally began wondering how he knew she was supposed to be married, he was already speaking again. "Cat got your tongue, Katniss?" he asked, with a small smirk.

It wasn't so much the fact that he knew her name as it was the deliberate tactlessness of his comment that made her finally understand. Insensitivity like that instantly reminded her of a certain drunkard Victor she'd come in contact with recently. " _You're_... working with Haymitch Abernathy?" she asked out loud, figuring she might as well give up the pretense. She didn't lower her guard, though; just because she could speak in his presence didn't mean all her reservations about him had banished.

He seemed to approve of the fact that she'd put two and two together. "Is that so hard to believe?" he asked her in return, walking away from the door to sit on one of the empty beds, a few away from her. Unlike Haymitch, who two days ago had seemed grim and cynical about everything he'd come to say, Finnick seemed entirely unruffled about this encounter.

Of course it was hard to believe; she had a hard time using Finnick and Haymitch's names in the same sentence, let alone actually imagining Finnick being part of a rebellious faction. As far as the entire country knew, he was living the grand life in the Capitol. Why would he want to, in Haymitch's words, take a hit at them? Bite the hand that fed him? And, of course, there were other factors... "Didn't seem that way. You being all chummy with Cato yesterday at lunch," she pointed out, crossing her arms.

She hadn't seen Finnick interact with Haymitch once during the entire meal, but that wasn't surprising; Haymitch hadn't even looked her way either. But she didn't figure being friends with vicious killers was part of their cover. Finnick leaned back, leveling his weight against his hands on the bed. "Cato's not so bad, you know," he asserted, casually. "Maybe you shouldn't judge us by our Games."

"It's the only thing I have to judge you on," she shot back. Whatever her opinion might be of Finnick, she'd never really believed him to be a murderous psychopath, despite how gruesome his method was for winning the Games. He killed because he wanted to win, not because he got a thrill out of having people die by his hand. It was different with Cato. "He seemed to enjoy killing."

"Oh, he probably did," he responded straight away, with a shrug of his shoulders. He didn't seem overly concerned about this, much like he didn't seem overly concerned about her obvious wariness. "You know, for the past few years, the Capitol has been using him as a hired gun. He kills people they want out of the way."

She was shocked by his unexpected revelation. It wasn't necessarily what he said, but how certain he sounded as he said it. It was a back door rumor that stretched even to District Twelve, the idea that once a person won the Hunger Games, the Capitol basically owned them, and if they had any talents to exploit, they would be used for everything they were worth. Everybody knew it, though nobody dared say it out loud. Having it basically confirmed by Finnick Odair, the Capitol's darling, only made it feel even more sick to her. She wondered why he was telling her this. Maybe he was doing the same thing Peeta did before, telling her at least part of the truth to come across as trustworthy.

He pushed his hands off the bed, shifting forward until he was leaning his forearms on his knees. "Thing is," he started, looking down at his hands as he interlaced his fingers, "even if you enjoy killing, there's just something wrong about being forced into it." He paused a moment to look at her straight in the eye. "You should know. Right, Katniss?"

The question was poignant and the way he was looking at her was more than enough for her to understand what he meant. After all, sometime soon— maybe even sooner than she was ready for— she'd be expected to kill Seneca Crane. That, she couldn't forget.

He seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He smiled again, not a smirk this time, or that smile full of charm she'd seen him give some of the females he passed by; instead it was a small smile, seemingly sincere, but mirthless and bittersweet. "Everyone who's involved in the Games comes out broken," he stated, grave. He shook his head slightly, the smile all but gone from his face. "You do what you have to do in order to survive."

She didn't know what to say to that. She didn't even want to think about that. Bad enough that the Games directly threatened her sister's life, the idea that even if she lived, she might be changed by the horrors of the arena, might have already been changed by the mere fact that she got reaped... she couldn't think about it. She thought back to Peeta's words from when they were in the box, about Prim's innocence. She had pegged him as too idealistic back then, at a moment when idealism wouldn't help them, but now she was beginning to understand and appreciate what he meant. No, Prim wouldn't have to "do what she had to do." She, Katniss, would, to make sure her sister reached the end of this alive and well.

"Was there anything you needed to tell me?" she asked him, curtly. Whatever it was, she wished he would just get to it.

"Actually, there is," he said, adding a light groan to the end of the sentence as he stood up from the bed. "I'm sure you heard about yesterday's... interruption at the parade," he stated, more than asked. She didn't even bother to nod, and he continued without waiting for her to reply. "It was us. Our tech people have a way of taking over the Capitol signal and introducing a broadcast of our own." They had tech people? How big was the rebellion? But she didn't ask. "Last night was the first time we did it. Just a small clip, and it only aired in the districts, but of course they have ways of finding out. They warned the President and his speech was cut short."

She waited, hoping he would get to the point. Yes, she wanted to know what happened during the President's speech, and she appreciated that Finnick meant to keep her in the loop, but why did he? Haymitch hadn't bothered. Why now? "The clip we aired last night was of you," he added, and that's when she understood. "When you punched that Peacekeeper at the Reaping."

"What?" she let out, stunned and confused. How did they get their hands on a clip like that? How could her punching Mendel ever have made it into the original broadcast to begin with? She had assumed that as soon as she started the scuffle the day of the Reaping, Capitol cameras would've cut away from it, as they always did when anything happened in the Games that was out of their control. Had that moment been filmed at all? Had the rebels' "tech people" taken the clip from the Capitol archives? _Cressida,_ she remembered. The camera crew had been there, and they were with the rebels...

She immediately felt angry, and more than that, she grew anxious. She was already in danger by having left the district to begin with, and to make matters worse they went and aired her face on national television? She'd been walking around the Training Center all morning. What if someone had recognized her?

Moreover, the fact that they had used her image without her permission— heck, without even letting her know at all— bothered her immensely. And what could they gain from it? All there was to it was a hysterical girl making a pointless mistake. If it hadn't been for Gale, Peeta and Darius, she would've been punished, or maybe even killed that day. "Why me?" she questioned brusquely.

"Why not? You punched a Peacekeeper," Finnick retorted, like it was the best thing he had heard in his life. "Everybody in Panem needs to know that if you hit them, they go down, just like anybody else," he qualified. "They're just flesh and bone. And they only have power over us because we let them."

"You're using that clip of me punching Mendel to try and get people in the districts to rise against Peacekeepers?" She was completely flabbergasted. She had never intended it that way when she did it. She couldn't even remember what she'd been thinking at the moment; all she could remember was an intense need to get to Prim.

He seemed to find her disbelief amusing and once more he directed a smirk in her direction. "You're the face of the rebellion, Katniss."

Her throat went dry as she pondered the implications of that statement. She hadn't meant it as a seditious act, but now that he brought it up, she could see how it could look that way from the outside: she'd brought down a symbol of the Capitol's authority, and gotten away scot-free. It was almost like spitting in the Capitol's metaphorical face, and now the entire nation was aware of it.

"Our people made sure your actual face couldn't be recognized," he continued, before she even felt like she had a grasp on the situation. But she didn't know if she ever would, so maybe that was a good thing. "Still, there are other ways for them to find out your identity. You can't stay here anymore, it's too risky. You'll be moved somewhere else during the night."

This immediately incited a distressed reaction from her. "No, I can't leave! My sister—"

"We're working on it," he interrupted her straight away, like he'd been expecting her to raise up an argument. "Don't worry, we'll get your sister out of there. Remember, this is all part of a greater plan," he assured her. Again, he seemed completely certain.

"A plan I know next to nothing about," she was quick to retort. No matter how sincere he sounded, she couldn't forget they were basically using her. Cressida had admitted as much on the train. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Because we're all working toward the same goal," he claimed. "The Hunger Games are the cornerstone of the Capitol's power. Getting the tributes out of that arena is the first step to make them crumble. We're going to do it," he asserted fervently. "But before we can, you need to do your part. Once that's done, we can get your sister out, and you won't have to worry about any of this anymore. Isn't that what you want?"

It was. And it wasn't. But she had to admit what he was saying made sense, just as Haymitch's words had made sense, too. Clearly they were using Prim and Prim's rescue as much as they were using her, but she was already in too deep to back out now.

She took a deep breath, resigned, and knelt down to pick up the backpack she and Peeta had brought along with them. She took the mockingjay pin out of the front pocket and, standing up again, presented it to Finnick. "Could you make sure Prim gets this?" she requested simply. "It's a token from our district." She didn't know what her sister saw in that pin when she decided to wear it, but she knew what she saw on it right now: that the mere existence of mockingjays meant the jabberjays survived to thrive despite the Capitol's intent for them to die. And she needed Prim to do the same. She needed Prim to know she could do the same.

He took the pin from her and stared at it for a moment, and she wondered what he saw in it. "I'll try, but I can't make any promises," was his reply to her request. He pocketed the pin and moved away from the bed. "You might want to let the husband know. There's a few places you can talk to him safely. Here, or at the roof. All the wind makes it hard for them to put up surveillance there." He nodded at her, almost like he was trying to nudge her in that direction. "You don't have much time to say your goodbyes."

At the implication, she felt something like a cold slurry settling in the pit of her stomach. "No, I can't just leave Peeta behind," she exclaimed, blanching at the thought. She had imagined this could happen from Haymitch's comments on their first night here, but she hadn't expected that it would upset her so much to have it confirmed.

He was resistant to the idea. "We can't get both of you out, it's too risky—"

"You got both of us in," she interrupted him before he could give her an excuse she knew would not satisfy her. "Why is it harder to get us out? As I understand it, you have a whole network of people just in this building working on this behind the scenes. What's one little change of plans?"

He looked almost regretful. "It's just not possible. You're going to be placed straight into prep for your assignment." By that he meant the assassination plan. "And he's not going to be part of that mission. There's nothing he can do over there," he explained. "I'm sorry." He was right, of course. It had already been established that Peeta didn't have much to offer an operation that hinged on a long-distance kill, and there was very little time for them to come up with something he could do. Still, she'd rather have him with her than not.

Finnick was looking at her like he knew she was going to put up a protest, like he understood, but she knew he didn't. He was thinking that of course she wouldn't want to be apart from her "husband," but there was so much more to it than that. He didn't know how much Peeta had done for her just by being there. He was risking everything— his family's safety, his own life— to help Prim, to help _her_ , and he did it even though he had no obligation to do so. He was just that good a man, and she'd be the most ungrateful person in the world if she just left him there, not knowing what would happen to him, and when (or _if_ ) they would see each other again.

She wanted to tell Finnick all of this, she wanted to say something, but she didn't know how. Didn't know if she could, or if it would just make things worse. So she just shook her head. It must've come across as anxious, from the way he was looking back at her. "Listen," he started, with a regretful sigh. "If it were up to me, I would let you go together. But... I'm just the messenger," he concluded, almost sadly. "Maybe you could talk to whoever's coming to get you tonight. Try and convince them to let him come with you."

She didn't know how she was going to do that, but it was the only option she had at the moment. She nodded, albeit reluctantly. Finnick moved toward the door, and just as he was about to twist the doorknob, she called out to him. When he turned back to her, she realized she didn't even know what she was going to ask, but she needed something to level herself. "What did _you_ have to do for the Capitol?" she questioned, over the hammering of her heart against her ribcage. "In order to survive, I mean."

Once again, his smile was somewhat pained and didn't reach his eyes. "I'm a secret keeper." He gave her another nod, or maybe even more of a bow, and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 23 took forever. You can blame _him_. -Points to Gale-
> 
> A few weeks back, when I posted an excerpt from this chapter on my ficlog, someone asked me about the outcome of the 74th Games, since they were obviously different without Katniss and Peeta (yeah, Cato won! District Two represent!— IDK, I just like Cato, I'm weird like that). Specifically she asked me about how I believe Rue and Foxface died in this alternate universe. I figured since I already typed it up, I might as well tell you guys, too:
> 
> Rue was killed by Marvel still, they found her hiding in the trees when she tried to bring down the tracker jacker nest on them (she didn't have a weapon, so she tried to throw rocks at it, and they heard her. She thought she wouldn't be seen but Clove had better hearing than she expected). I'd like to think it was a swift death.
> 
> As for Foxface, Cato killed her when he realized she was stealing their food, right after he killed District 3 dude because he let her steal their food. Thresh killed both Marvel and Clove (because of Rue, still). And then, add in a touch of irony for Glimmer: I don't like her very much, so I don't think she was particularly well-adapted to surviving in the wild. So when the careers split up, she couldn't ration her provisions well enough and ran out, and decided that while she waited for her sponsors to send her some real food, she might as well go pick some berries... Oh yeah, nightlock. xD Hey, if someone as smart as Foxface could make that mistake, Glimmer had no chance.
> 
> More to the chapter, I should mention how close I was to actually writing a scene where Katniss jumped Effie in the hallways of the Training Center to wrestle her keycard away from her. I was really, really tempted. The mental picture is hilarious. :D
> 
> Also, last week I spent a lot of time procrastinat— I mean, pondering ways to make this fanfic as good as it can possibly be, and in the midst of my pondering I decided to open Photoshop and tinker around with it for a while. I wound up making a banner for this fic, just for kicks, though I don't really see the point if FFN will only let you guys see a tiny 75x112 version of it... It's nothing spectacular, but if any of you want to see the full version, just let me know in a review or a PM and I'll send you a link.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all liked my take on Finnick! I love Finnick, and this chapter may be my favorite yet, if only because he's in it. Unfortunately there will be no Finnick in the next chapter, but another Victor is going to make an appearance (any guesses?), and it's a Peeta PoV, with Peeta & Katniss interaction, so you guys can look forward to that! It shouldn't take as long as this one did, because I have chapter 24 outlined in way more detail than I did 23. So stay tuned and please leave a review, it would help my focus a lot! (I've been fending off plot bunnies all week. Please save me from the scary bunnies!)


	18. Peeta: Pulled By The Current

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 18: Pulled by the current_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Peeta shook his head vigorously. "No. I don't like this," he replied straight away. Such an unyielding tone was unlike him, but there was no way he could accept what she had just told him.

He'd been surprised when Katniss had come looking for him down at the kitchens, a little while after the dinner rush was over. He was familiar with the emotions seeing her inspired in him; they'd been plaguing his mind non-stop for the past few days. Mainly there was a powerful, deep-seated relief that she was okay and hadn't been found out.

But there was also fear. A lot of it. He hadn't seen more than a glimpse of her as she walked through the service hallways for almost two whole days. They were posing as Avoxes, so he couldn't exactly pull her to the side to talk to her, and he wasn't expecting her to come looking for him either. And if she had, surely it meant something big had happened.

He thought they'd go down to the Avox quarters, where they could talk freely as long as nobody else was around. Instead she directed him to the elevator, and then all the way up to the roof. She explained it was so windy up there, the Capitol didn't bother setting up a surveillance system. He could see why: the wind was so loud, he could barely hear himself as he spoke.

It was also very cold, so right away he offered her his jacket for warmth. His father had raised him and his brothers to be gentlemen (though sometimes he had his doubts about Crispen). She only pondered it for a couple of seconds before deciding to accept it. He was a few inches taller than her, and a lot broader, so the garment basically hung on her frame, which he thought was adorable. She leaned against the railing for a moment, looking down at the streets of the Capitol, which were swarming with lights and people even at night, now that the betting pools for the Games had started running.

He was about to ask what was wrong when she volunteered the information herself. She explained everything that had happened since they last saw each other: Prim's appearance in the Tribute Parade, the President's address being interrupted with footage of her outburst at the Reaping, her conversation with Finnick Odair, how he was working with the rebels and how they were using that footage to incite insubordination in the districts. And then she told him she was leaving.

He'd been afraid of this, ever since they'd spoken with Haymitch. He wasn't stupid; he knew he was useless when it came to this assassination plan the rebels had. Katniss was exactly what they needed— not only had he been eating her squirrels for years, all shot neatly through the eye, but he'd seen her in action that night on the train, and it was one of the most amazing things he'd ever seen in his life.

But what about him? He wasn't a fighter. Haymitch had pointed it out and Peeta couldn't disagree. That's why he'd gotten so upset even though she tried to defend him: he realized just then that there was nothing he could do to help her, not really; if he went with her he'd be nothing but a burden. And in that moment he felt so angry at himself, so powerless. He never would've snapped at her like that in any other circumstance, but he was just so disappointed in himself.

If it had been Gale Hawthorne who had come to the Capitol with her, he knew, he'd be right there with her, fighting, regardless of the danger, a hunter's instinct honed over years of survival in the wilderness to guide them both to success safely. What was a baker compared to that? He knew how to wrestle, though it had been years since he'd last done that, and either way this wasn't the same thing at all. She'd be forced to look over her shoulder constantly, having to protect him, instead of him protecting her, which had been his intent when he offered to come with her. He'd rather she do this on her own, make it out to save her sister, than he drag both of them down.

On the other hand, they didn't know if they could trust these people. All they had to go on was the word of Haymitch Abernathy, who spent more time under the influence of alcohol than any other man he'd ever met, and now Finnick Odair, who seemed the least likely person ever to have a grudge against the Capitol. The rebels needed Katniss, but it wasn't personal for them. They saw her as a weapon. Maybe he couldn't do anything to help the mission if he went with her, but at least Katniss would have someone on her side for sure, if something went wrong.

He'd spent hours tossing and turning in bed, thinking about it. Was it selfish of him to want to remain by her side even though he knew he would only be in her way? He felt a wave of panic rise in him just having her out of his sight; he didn't know how he would be able to stand knowing that she was out in the eye of the storm while he was stuck here, doing less than nothing.

The moment he saw her that night, his heart won over his doubts: he couldn't let these people separate them. Maybe it was illogical, but he couldn't help it. He simply couldn't let her go alone. "How do we even know we can trust them? I don't think you should go alone," he sentenced, concluding the thought.

It took her a moment to reply. "I agree," she finally said, and it surprised him. One thing he knew about Katniss was that she was a very rational person. He'd honestly been expecting her to agree that he should stay behind. He couldn't help the momentary elation he felt, knowing she'd rather them stay together even though strategically speaking it didn't make sense. "But it's my only option," she continued, sounding frustrated. "Let's face it: we had no idea what we were even going to do once we got here. We had no plan. Not really. They do, and it gives me a way to save Prim. I have to do it."

She looked up at him from where she was sitting on the floor, in the corner, leaning against the railing. "And wasn't that what you said, anyway? If you could help stop this, once and for all, stop the Games, you'd do it?" Her gray eyes pierced at him as she pointed out his own words from back when they were in the box.

He shook his head. Of course he wanted to stop the Games, of course he would love for a rebellion to bring down the Capitol. He was no rebel, but he detested what they did to people, what they'd made of Panem. He'd seen too many murdered children already. But it was hard to see the forest for the trees when it took the woman he loved putting herself in the line of fire, and on her own. He considered himself a trusting person, and he'd even been the one to convince _her_ to go along with things this far, initially. How the tables had turned. But it was an entirely different situation if they intended to separate them. He couldn't just go along with that. He wasn't taking any chances when it came to Katniss's safety, even if these people promised freedom.

He sighed, and crouched down in front of her, so he could look her in the eye. "I know. And I'm not saying we shouldn't do this. I just think if we started this together, we should finish it together," he added, hoping she heard the urgency in his words. How important this was to him.

"Look, I know I'd be no good in this mission. I'm not the best back-up you can have. No, we both know it's true," he interrupted her when she opened her mouth to speak, presumably to refute his claim. "But I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you and I wasn't there," he confessed. He hoped his earnestness wouldn't scare her off, not when she was finally beginning to let him in, but either way he just had to say it. "I know right now it seems like there's no choice, but you don't have to go at it alone, Katniss."

She averted her eyes, mumbling something that he couldn't hear clearly because of the wind, but sounded almost like "I've heard that before." He didn't ask, though he was curious. "Well, whoever it was, they were right," he commented, with a small shrug. He saw her purse her lips, and he wondered if she was trying not to scowl. Sometimes she was so funny.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and she must have caught him smiling, because her gaze went right back to the edge of the railing, her eyebrows coming together in the lightest frown. After about a minute, she spoke up. "Finnick said maybe I could talk to the person who will come get me tonight," she started. "Try and convince them to bring you as well. But I don't know if I'll be able to. I've... I'm not good at convincing people," she finished, a little hesitant.

He sat down against the wall, legs stretched out, perpendicular to her position. "So you come get me," he told her, determined. "When they contact you, you come get me. I'll talk to whoever it is. I won't let them take you away like that." He hoped his resolve was coming across. He wasn't sure what he could say to convince these people, but he would, somehow.

She nodded. There was silence again. Randomly he noticed her feet were very close to his; he found himself nudging at them playfully with the toe of one (as he'd taken to calling them) "Capitol-issued clown shoe." He mentally kicked himself for being silly when she pulled her knees up to her chest in response. He heard her mutter "sorry"; she probably thought he was bothered by her proximity. He wasn't. Not ever.

He sighed, and gazed at her face and her thoughtful, probably mostly worried expression, as she looked down at the floor. At the space she just put between them. "Are you scared?"

She shook her head. "I know I can kill him."

"That's not what I asked."

Her face snapped up until her eyes met his, surprised and a little confused. Then she seemed to understand what he meant and for a second, just one second, he thought he saw a side of her she rarely let out: the shaken, vulnerable young woman who was overwhelmed by her current circumstances, and needed something to hold onto. It absolutely broke his heart. "Katniss, you're the strongest person I know," he encouraged her, his entire heart in every word.

She looked at him with an unfathomable expression. "You barely know me at all," she responded, her voice barely above a whisper. It was only because he was looking so intently at her that he could piece it together. She sounded tired and resigned, like she wanted to pull away again.

He shook his head, not about to let her. "I know enough." And it was true, she just didn't know it. For her, he had only come into her life a few months ago, when his father died, or maybe one step further back, counting that day he gave her the burnt bread. But for him, she'd always been a focal point of his life. Always. He knew her. And most of all, he knew she could get through this.

But it seemed to him just as soon as he'd caught a glimpse of that fragility in her, the shutters were pulled closed again. She wrapped her arms tighter around her legs and frowned. "It doesn't matter, anyway," she stated, resting her head against the railing behind her. "Whether I do it or not, the rebels are going to try and kill him somehow. They need him out of the way so they can get the tributes out of the arena. They're using me, I know they are, but I might as well go with it to make sure Prim gets out okay."

There was something in her tone, a kind of surrender, maybe, that he didn't like. It seemed incongruous with the survivor he knew she was. "You can't let them change you," he said. She seemed a little puzzled by this declaration, so he added: "All these plans, whether it's the Capitol, or the rebels... you're more than just a piece in their games. Whatever happens, whatever they want you to do, you have to still be _you_."

She looked at him for a long moment, and he was reminded of the way she'd looked at him when they were in the box, like she was trying to figure him out. He didn't have to wonder what she was thinking. Those were big words he'd just spouted, after all. Maybe he was too much of an idealist, he'd always been; but this, he truly believed in.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and took a breath. "That might be out of my control," she told him, and he knew she was thinking about Prim. Katniss loved her sister more than anything, and to her, losing herself would be a small price to pay if it meant Prim would be alright.

It was admirable. And he wished it never came down to that. "Then I'll be there to remind you," he promised, with a smile. He could only hope it gave her some measure of comfort.

She nodded again and, after a short pause, started getting up from the floor. He stood up as well, out of long-instilled reflex. "I should go," she said, as she took off his jacket and handed it back to him. "I don't know when they'll be coming to find me." There was something in the way she said it that told him she wanted to go downstairs on her own.

If she wanted to have some time to herself, that was okay with him. All of this was happening so fast, she was probably overwrought. "Remember to come get me," he insisted. She made to walk into the elevator. "Katniss," he grabbed a hold of her hand as she walked past him. Her steps halted, and she looked back at him over her shoulder. "Just... be careful." She didn't say anything, but he saw her look down at their joined hands.

Then she gave him another nod and walked away, her fingers sliding against his as she moved out of his grasp. She stepped inside the elevator and he turned toward the railing, looking down at the streets of the Capitol like she had when they'd first come up. But just a few seconds later, he heard her call out to him.

"Peeta."

He turned around to see her head peeking out of the enclosed space, dark braid hanging over her shoulder, her forearm pressed against the edge of the elevator door so it wouldn't close on her. "I..." For a second she looked startled— he wondered if maybe she hadn't meant to speak at all. She opened her mouth to say something else, but seemed to think better of it.

There was silence for a moment as she put her thoughts together. He waited expectantly, until at last her features softened. "...I'll see you later," was what she settled on, finally. It seemed like maybe that wasn't what she'd meant to say originally, but he didn't ponder on it long, because then the corners of her mouth crinkled up in the shape of a smile. It was small, and it was tremulous, but it was the first real smile she'd ever given him, and it was beautiful.

Then she took a step back, the elevator doors closed, and Peeta let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He stayed up there just a few minutes longer.

She never came to find him that night.

He had made sure to stay down at the kitchens until lights out, but nobody ever came in looking for him. Quickly he grew worried, but he told himself not to panic; it made sense that extraction operations were easier to pull off with less people around, so of course they'd wait until most of the occupants of the building were asleep to make their move. Even as he went to bed, as the minutes ticked by and he grew more and more concerned, he still kept reminding himself: _Maybe it'll happen a little later. There's still time. Maybe a little later._

He stayed awake all night, waiting. He wasn't sure how she'd be able to come in with eleven other men sleeping all around him, but she said she would come for him, and he believed she would, unless something had happened. That's what scared him the most.

He wasn't even aware he had waited through the entire night— there were no clocks in the room, no windows on this side of the building, and he only had his own sense of the passage of time to tell him how late it was, but his fears were only confirmed when their wake-up call came (the Capitol managed the help like they would a military encampment) and he realized it was the next day. There was no more time. Something had to have gone wrong.

He tried looking for her in the morning, but her quarters were empty; all the Avoxes in her crew had probably already been dispatched to their assigned floors to get everything ready for breakfast. Still unsettled he went back to the kitchens to work, thinking if she was still in the building, she'd make her way down once the breakfast rush was over. He'd look for her then.

So of course, he was very surprised when, just as he was pulling the last batch of breakfast pastries from the oven, his supervisor informed him someone wanted to speak to him. For a moment there was nothing but a huge relief, as he made his way to his assigned quarters with his heart in his throat. He opened the door, expecting to find Katniss there, sitting on one of the beds, with an explanation, if not an apology, for not contacting him during the night.

Instead, he was met with a man. He was well over six feet tall, maybe in his late 40's, dark-skinned, and one of his arms ended in a stump. As soon as he saw Peeta come in, he signaled for him to close the door behind him. He was contemplating what this person could want with him when the man stretched out his hand toward him. "You must be Peeta Mellark," he started. "My name's Chaff. I'm a friend of Haymitch's. I know you're not an Avox, you can speak freely with me."

Peeta shook the man's hand firmly, though he was still wondering what the sudden visit was about. "Nice to meet you," he replied, thankful for any chance he got to use his vocal cords. "Can I help you with anything?" Dimly he remembered that's the way he usually phrased the question to his customers back at the bakery. It was probably just automatic for him by now.

Chaff clapped him in the shoulder twice. Peeta didn't mind the gesture; his brother Brith used to do that to him sometimes. He just wished this guy would get to the point. "Wanted to let you know your wife made it out safely and she's on the way to another secret location," he explained. "Over there, they'll put her up to speed on the assassination plan."

Peeta felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on him. "What? No," he started, shaking his head as the revelation that Katniss had already been moved out of the Training Center— without him— dawned. "That can't be. She— she said she would come get me before she left. She said maybe we could get your people to take me, too."

Chaff's response was more of a huff, which Peeta didn't like. It reminded him of Haymitch. "Sorry, boy. It's done now."

"No," he said again, sharply, almost before the other man could finish speaking. "She said she would come look for me. She wouldn't have left without letting me know. She wouldn't." It didn't make sense to him. She'd never actually said she wouldn't leave without him; an "I'll see you later" would hardly count as a promise to anyone else. But despite her fears, despite her doubts about all of this, there was trust in her eyes when he last saw her. He had to believe that.

Chaff eyed him carefully, like he was expecting him to start throwing punches left and right. "I'm sure she didn't mean to," he commented. His tone was still gruff, but it was obvious he was trying to appease Peeta. "But sometimes these things have to happen fast, maybe she just didn't have time. Or maybe she's just smart 'nough that she realized coming to find you at that hour could blow your cover and possibly the entire operation," he finished, pointedly.

Peeta dropped himself on his bed with a sigh. He hadn't thought of it that way. But of course he hadn't; there always seemed to be something he was missing. And he had to admit it did sound like Katniss to think of it like that. The plan could be affected if they were discovered, and then what would happen to Prim? It only went to show how ill-equipped he was to back her up in this trip.

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "You alright, kid?" Chaff asked in his rough manner.

"I don't know, I just..." He closed his eyes tightly, then pressed against his lids with the heel of his hands. "Look, I know I'm worthless to your strategy. I know there's nothing I can do to help her over there. I _know_ ," he admitted, vehement. "But... I still feel like I should be there with her." He felt so fervently about this, his voice was almost breaking as he spoke. "I need to be by her side so I know she's okay. I have to make sure... I can't..." he trailed off, swallowing heavily. He just felt so powerless right then. Like he'd failed, yet again.

"Come off it. Even if you were right there with her, you'd worry," the taller man said, brusquely, but Peeta figured he had a point. He was just so frustrated. Chaff sat at the edge of the bed in front of his, leaning his one forearm down against his thigh. "We're not gonna to let nothing happen to her. We need her."

"And what happens when you don't need her anymore?" Peeta asked. He wasn't sure if he sounded accusing or defeated. Maybe both.

"We'll need her for the whole ride," Chaff assured him, something of a smirk in place. "It's not just her bow and arrow we want her for. Seems you're not getting this through your head, boy: that lady of yours, she's the face of the revolution. Without her, we go nowhere." Once again his mannerisms reminded Peeta of their one encounter with Haymitch Abernathy, except Chaff seemed actually sincere and not just sarcastic for the sake of it. He thought he liked Chaff better.

"What exactly is it that you need her to do? Apart from the assassination mission, I mean." He had to ask. Katniss had also mentioned this whole "face of the revolution" idea, and it both perplexed him and distressed him. It sounded so vague but like such a huge deal at the same time, and a lot like she would be taking the weight of the fall if things went down.

It seemed Chaff would not be the one to give him the truth he wanted either. "Even I don't know the whole story," the man conceded. "In this business it's better not to know everything. But she's important. Really important. This ain't something we're improvising here, you know." His smirk receded, his tone growing serious. "Many people have been working on this for a long time. Years. Just waiting for the right opportunity." He paused, as if to emphasize his point. "And that girl has fire in her. Just the spark we needed."

He didn't doubt she was. If the rebels could see in Katniss just half of what he saw in her— her strength, her determination, her intelligence, her unfailing loyalty to those she cared about— then it was no surprise they wanted her. "She does have fire in her," he had to agree. She'd only been away from him for a few hours, and he already felt freezing cold.

Chaff nodded at him with a small, lopsided smile. Then he stood up, and made for the door. "Look, Peeta," he began, when he was just a couple steps away from it. "You seem like an okay guy. But it's true, what you said: there's not much you can do to help her over there. However... there's something you can do to help _here_."

At his confused frown, Chaff chuckled, and simply told him to expect more visitors soon. With that he walked out of the room, leaving Peeta alone with his thoughts. The ambiguity of that last warning bothered him, of course. They wanted him to do something for them, too? What could that possibly be? He wasn't a fighter, he thought, dejectedly, for what felt like the hundredth time.

He thought he finally understood what Katniss was feeling the previous night. It was like being pulled by a current without any control of where you were going and how you would get there. It seemed he basically had no choice but to go along with whatever these people had planned, if he wanted to help her. And he _would_ help her, no matter what it took.

But if he ended up between a rock and a hard place, he thought as he walked back to the kitchens, would he be able to take his own advice? Would he be able to stay himself, no matter what he was forced to do? He hoped he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...You're all going to kill me for this. :S
> 
> But wait! There is a point to this, I swear. Remember, the whole idea behind this fic is to explore themes and events that happen in the original trilogy, but under a different set of circumstances. Well, it just so happens that separation is a _huge_ theme when it comes to Peeta and Katniss, particularly circa the end of _Catching Fire_ and the first half of _Mockingjay_. So I had to touch upon that in some way. But I swear, you guys, I'm going somewhere with this. Trust me.
> 
> And oh, please don't get mad at Katniss? :( Everything will be explained, I promise. As you can see from the first half of this chapter, she clearly did not want to leave Peeta behind, so that's gotta count for something, right?
> 
> To my dear anonymous reviewers who wanted to see the full-size banner I made for this story: http://kyoudai.net/THG/ricochet01.png
> 
> To all of you who have added this story to their alerts: Hi there! I appreciate your interest. But you know, I'd love to hear from you! Even if it's just a "hi, I'm reading," please take a moment to drop me a line. It would be very encouraging to know that those 350+ emails that are getting sent out aren't just ending up in your spam folders. :)
> 
> Thanks for all the support, and please review! See y'all next chapter.


	19. Gale: Training, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 19: Training, part 1_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Gale was frowning so hard, it was practically like he was squinting at the television. He knew Vick would just make fun of him for it again; clearly the shove he'd given him earlier did nothing to dissuade the cheeky rascal from teasing his older brother, so Gale was mostly just ignoring his incessant snickering now.

Unlike the usual reasons for him to be frowning while watching the Games, this time it was mostly just confusion. It crossed his mind that he'd never really watched the Training Commentary. It wasn't mandatory watching, so he'd always taken steps to avoid it. This year, of course, he'd resolved to watch as much of the Games as he could, because of Prim, but now that he was watching this for the first time in his life, it struck him how pointless it was. Watching Templesmith and Flickerman speculate about the Tributes' abilities while trying not to reveal too much of what was actually going on during training was a notch below completely useless.

The program went into advertising space as he shoveled the last couple of spoonfuls of his dinner into his mouth. It had gone cold because his mother had made it earlier than usual. She was currently in the back, working on some laundry with Posy's help. Vick had decided to watch the Commentary with him (probably just avoiding doing homework). He hadn't seen hair nor hide from Rory since he got home. "Rory's out again?" he asked, not that he really needed confirmation. This had been routine for the entire week. This was the third day in a row he missed dinner.

Vick shrugged. "He hasn't been doing well through Prim's training days," he explained. Well, that was an understatement. He grimaced as Vick continued speaking. "You guys probably don't notice, but he hasn't been sleeping well." This, he wasn't aware of. It's not like Rory spent his nights tossing and turning— Gale was a light enough sleeper that he would've noticed. If it was subtler than that, though, Vick would know. He did share a bed with the guy.

"And work at the bakery is rougher these days, too," Vick continued. "He hasn't said anything, but I heard Mrs. Mellark screaming at him a couple days ago when I walked by." He shook his head. "It's no secret she wasn't happy about them hiring a Seam kid as an assistant. She didn't say anything with Peeta there, but now that he's not around, she's not holding back."

Gale grit his teeth; when stuff like that happened, it never failed to put him in a bad mood. He knew people from Town tended to think they were better than people in the Seam, but only a few of them were openly disdainful, and the Mellark woman was probably the worst of the lot. Normally he figured Rory could handle it, but now with everything that was happening... "Why is he spending so much time over there, then? If I were him I'd be out of there as soon as my shift was done."

"That's exactly what he does," Vick replied straight away. Gale couldn't know what his siblings were doing while he was working, but Vick and Rory saw each other often through the day, even though they had different groups of friends. "Only every day he goes off to the meadow to sulk. That's probably where he is right now."

Gale shook his head. One would think Rory was old enough that he wouldn't have to be worrying about him all the time, but of course that was foolish; he would probably never stop worrying about his siblings, no matter how old they were. It was too ingrained in him. With a sigh he got up. "One of these days, he'll get caught missing a mandatory viewing, and then we'll really be screwed."

"Language, Gale," he heard his mother reprimand him as he moved to the kitchen to wash his plate. She'd just walked in, carrying an empty tub, which meant she was there to pick up more laundry. He rolled his eyes. The admonishment might fly if Posy had come in with her, but she was still outside and Vick heard much worse at school every day, he was sure.

She moved to the kitchen table, where she'd left her pile of to-wash laundry, and started putting some of the garments in her tub. "And don't let Rory hear you talking about him behind his back," she addressed both of them. "You know he doesn't like that."

He scoffed, thinking that would be more emotion than either of them had seen from Rory in a week. "Let him get mad. As long as it gets him out of the funk," he grumbled, as he rinsed his plate.

She paused in her work for a moment and gave him one of those "Mom" looks. "Rory's hurting," she stated. "And under the circumstances, I think that's fairly understandable." She continued picking up the last few pieces of clothing. "Just let him have some time to himself. He'll be alright eventually."

He said nothing to that. If thinking that way made her feel better about Prim being reaped, he wasn't about to bring her down. She picked up the tub and went outside again. Just as he was drying his plate, he heard Vick let out a pained groan. "Oh man, not this again!"

He chuckled. Overdramatic much? "What is it?" he asked, putting the towel down as he walked to the living room again.

"These clips of District Thirteen," Vick exclaimed, waving his hand at the television screen almost angrily. "I mean, they've always aired these every once in a while, but they've been airing them every hour since the Games began," he grumbled as Gale sat down beside him again. "I'm tired of it already!"

Of course they'd been airing footage of District Thirteen non-stop for the past few days; they knew someone was trying to stir up unrest in the districts. It was the most direct and effective way for them to say "don't even think about rebelling, or you'll end up in ruins, too." But Vick didn't need to know that. "Well, this programming isn't really meant for entertainment," he commented.

"I know, but it's just so repetitive," the boy mumbled. "They could change it up a bit every once in a while, maybe, but it's always the same footage."

"What are you talking about?" Gale asked somewhat amused. He pointed at the screen, where a man with golden skin and obnoxiously orange hair was pointing behind him at the rubble that used to be a town in Thirteen. "I've never seen that guy before in my life."

"No, I meant the actual footage," Vick shook his head. "Yeah, the people who are speaking change every time, but the background is always the same." He paused for a minute, as if remembering something. "Take a closer look, you'll see the man is just superimposed on the background, like they do sometimes on game shows."

Gale decided to humor him. He squinted at the screen— this time he was actually squinting— and sure enough, it was clear that while the camera filming the scene of the ruins of Thirteen was moving to the side, the orange-haired guy was stationary. The two were definitely filmed separately and then superimposed. "Reusing footage is nothing new."

"Once or twice, sure. But it's been the same for _years_ ," Vick pointed out. "I didn't even notice until they started airing it so often, but... Look, look at this clip right here, of the Justice Building." He signaled for Gale to turn back to the screen, quickly. "Watch carefully, in the top right-hand corner."

It took a few seconds for something to appear there, and when it did, he wasn't terribly impressed. "It's a bird," he deadpanned, not getting the point.

"It's a mockingjay," Vick corrected him. "It's _always_ the _same_ mockingjay."

At that moment the Training Commentary resumed airing, and Gale put all thoughts of Thirteen and the bird out of his head. He thought it was an odd detail, but for the most part, irrelevant. The commentary, at least, gave him marginally more useful information in regards to the Games, and Prim's participation in them. Not by much, though.

It wasn't until the next night, after he had caught the clips of Thirteen on the broadcast a couple more times, that he realized Vick was right... about it being the same footage, at least. Without a doubt, it was the same every time. He had to give it to the kid: he might be lazy when it came to schoolwork, but he was smart.

He brought up the topic of the reused footage at work, just as a curiosity, one day after the last shift was over, while he and his crew mates were putting away their gear. Gale had tried to discreetly scout around the miners for support of a possible rebellion, but his attempts went nowhere. Most of his crew mates thought he was just looking for something to distract him from the fact that he "lost his girl to the baker" (everywhere he went in the whole damn district these days, he was met with looks of pity. He was getting sick of it).

Apart from that, the constant replay of the District Thirteen clips wasn't the only preventative measure the Capitol had taken over the past week; Thread had doubled security in the mines, and everybody was reluctant to discuss what they all knew was happening, considering it could cost them an indefinite amount of time in the stocks, or worse. Compared to what happened at the Reaping, and the interruption of the Tribute Parade broadcast, a bird flying in the background of a 30-second-long clip of District Thirteen was much more innocuous, or so it seemed to his crew mates as they easily went along with the conversation topic.

Suggested explanations ranged from the sensible (such as Clayton's idea that it was cheaper to reuse footage than to send people all the way out there so often) to the plain silly (like Bristel's idea that it wasn't a mockingjay, but a robotic mutt that was programmed to fly in the exact same pattern every time they filmed so they could make the images look more "dramatic"). Mostly it was all of them young men just having fun with it, until Barnabas, the senior-most member of their crew, confirmed the footage had not changed for decades.

"I ain't one for bird-watching like you kids," he harrumphed in his usual gruff tone, "but I'll be damned if those ruins don't look exactly the same as they did thirty years ago." He shook his head. "You'd think something woulda changed. It's unnatural. But I guess they want people to think the place still looks like that."

"Why would they?" asked Thom, confused. "I mean, the more decayed the ruins are, the more intimidating it is for the districts, right?"

Barnabas paused for a moment to close his locker and wipe his hands with a rag he carried in his pocket. "Maybe there's more than just decay there these days," he mumbled. Thom seemed to think about it for a minute, but the topic was dropped as they filed out of the locker room.

As always, they had to be searched before leaving, and most of them weren't keen on speaking about topics like these after being face to face with Thread's Peacekeepers. Gale, however, wasn't the type to just let it go. "What did you mean, more than just decay?" he asked as he caught up with Barnabas, a fair distance away from the entrance to the mines. "Do you think maybe the Capitol has been using Thirteen soil for something else these past few years, and they've just been feeding us some lie about it being unusable because of the toxic residue?"

The older man did not slow down his steps, though he did look around, making sure nobody could overhear him speak. "You didn't hear this from me," he stated, more than asked, and Gale nodded accordingly. "Word back when I was younger was that the structure of Thirteen was destroyed, but not the people."

Gale frowned. Was Barnabas implying what he thought he was implying? "So, what? You think they've rebuilt the District, and the Capitol just let them? And that's why they can't show us what's really there now?" He shook his head, disbelieving. "That's not possible. Thirteen was obliterated."

"That's what they tell us," the guy pointed out, and Gale grew irritated, mainly because the comment made him feel foolish. Of course, he knew every truth that came from the Capitol was most likely not true at all. He'd been saying that for years, himself. But that didn't automatically make every other outlandish claim true either. "Back in the day, rumor had it they went underground, instead. And the Capitol let them, because Thirteen was in charge of nuclear development."

"No, they mined graphite," Gale shot back, but a second later he was doubting his own quick reply. That was yet another "truth" they'd been fed by the Capitol.

"They had a few graphite mines," Barnabas acquiesced. "'Bout half as many as we do coal. But that's not enough to sustain their entire population."

This gave Gale pause, because he'd never thought about it in terms of numbers. Put in perspective: in Twelve, which was the smallest district, the mines barely provided enough jobs for the able-bodied population of the district. The merchant population was relatively small. Halving the coal production would mean half the Seam would be out of their minimum-wage job, and entire families would die, even more than they did now. Assuming their population distribution followed the same pattern, how had Thirteen been able to sustain similar population numbers, with only half the graphite production?

For him, and probably the rest of Panem, the destruction of Thirteen was a fact they never questioned. That was not only because the Capitol said so, but because nobody had heard anything from them since the Dark Days. If survivors from Thirteen were really out there, surely they had to know what the other districts had been going through for the last seventy-nine years. So why hadn't they helped? And how could they just watch so many people starve and be abused, watch children be murdered in the Games, and do nothing?

Without meaning to, his pace had become brisker. Barnabas seemed to notice he was growing agitated. "Look, Hawthorne, I'm just telling you what people used to think. There's no proof about any of this. And there won't ever be." That, Gale knew was true. With communications, even between the currently active districts, controlled by the Capitol, the only way anyone could corroborate these claims was physically making their way there. Very few people could survive the trip, and those few who could, wouldn't dare.

That was as much as Barnabas was willing to talk about a subject that turned out to be not nearly as innocuous as they'd originally thought. With a tense nod, they each went their separate ways as they came up to the first few houses of the Seam.

Gale went back home and tried his best to put all thoughts of District Thirteen out of his head. As tempting as it was to imagine that there was something out there to run to other than just wilderness, he couldn't afford to lose himself in delusions now. Not until he knew what was happening with Katniss.

A couple more days went by, and soon enough came the night they would announce the training scores. His entire family was nervous by that point. As far as he'd managed to gather from the Capitol's useless commentary, Prim had spent most of her time in the survival stations, which he thought was smart. If she could keep herself fed and avoid the others for as long as possible, her chances were greater.

On the other hand, survival skills didn't usually impress the Gamemakers, and scores on the lower end of the spectrum didn't usually impress sponsors. She would have to strike exactly the right balance not to completely undo the amazing impression she made on the Tribute Parade.

He was already in a testy mood because of that, and then when he got home, he had to dodge a rubber ball coming his way, because Vick, Posy and a couple kids were playing kickball in their front yard and he just happened to pass by right in the middle of the action. He took a moment to remind the other kids it was time to go home if they wanted to be in time for the broadcast.

He walked inside, gave his mother a quick greeting (she was in the kitchen, chopping up some vegetables he'd brought from the Hob the previous day) and walked to the bedroom, dropping off his protective equipment on his mattress. As he looked around, he noticed the absence of a certain someone, and just as briskly as he'd come in, he made his way outside and toward the meadow, ignoring all questions.

He navigated through the streets of the Seam quickly, not even pausing to say hello to acquaintances of his who greeted him on the way; he had no time for that right at that moment. He hastened his steps when he saw that, just a couple blocks away, Peacekeepers were already patrolling the streets to make sure everybody was inside in time to watch the broadcast. He took a shortcut behind the last few houses in order to avoid being spotted, and came up to the edge of the meadow where, sure enough, Rory was sitting all by his lonesome, among a cluster of tall blades of grass.

He stalked right up to him. "Get up," he let out in a harsh whisper. He grabbed at his arm, and it snapped Rory right out of his brooding mood, it seemed, because he was too surprised to struggle as Gale pulled him to his feet. "We're going home," he sentenced, no-nonsense.

"I don't want to watch that—"

"Lower. Your voice." It came out as more a command than a request, emphasis marked to make sure Rory knew he was serious. The objection wasn't so much to the protest— he already knew that was coming— but to his tone. He was being loud and if someone heard, they'd be found out. "There are Peacekeepers patrolling the streets just a block away. If they find us here, you'll end up in the stocks, and I'll probably get shot." Rory's eyes widened momentarily. "We have to go, _now_."

Rory wasn't one to let himself be dragged around like cattle by his older brother (not since he hit puberty and grew tall enough to see Gale eye to eye), but it seemed the idea of what the Peacekeepers could do to them if they got caught had shaken him enough that he complied without complaint. Good. Gale wasn't playing games here. He was already on Thread's list as it was.

The moment they were inside their home, though, Rory roughly pulled his arm out of Gale's grasp, jerking him hard enough that the door slammed behind him. Their mother, Vick and Posy got up immediately, sensing the tension straight away. "Oh, thank goodness, you found him..." his mother started, but before she could say anything else, accusations were already flying between the two.

"What the hell were you thinking, Rory?" Gale boomed out, glaring at the boy. Grey eyes glared at him right back, in equal intensity. "Look, I know you're hurting right now because of Prim, but you can't just stop caring about everything else—"

"Oh, that's rich," Rory let out a bark of cynical laughter as he shook his head. "You don't know _anything_ , Gale," he snapped at his brother, tone hard and obviously meant to hurt. "You don't know how it feels to know that the person you love most in the world is in danger, and you can't do anything about it! You have no idea!"

"You _know_ that's not true," he retorted, and it only took him taking one small step forward to have his mother stepping between the two of them, like she expected them to lunge at each other. Vick also moved behind Rory, ready to hold him back if needed. Posy looked from one to the other, visibly scared. "Katniss is out there, in a dangerous place, and she probably doesn't even know the Capitol is looking for her," he pointed out through gritted teeth. That was true enough to make his point, yet vague enough that it still fit with the story he'd told everyone. "And even then I stayed here."

"Well, maybe you don't love her as much as you think you do, then!" Rory outright screamed back at him, his face going red in his agitation. Vick actually grabbed hold of his shoulder, holding him in place before he took a swing at him, or worse.

Gale bristled. Who the hell did Rory think he was, telling him what he felt or didn't feel? Sixteen, and the big ingrate thought he knew everything there was to know about love, about life? "You have no idea what you're talking about," he countered, pointing in Rory's direction. "I stayed because I have responsibilities here, and so do you."

"You stayed because she didn't want you to come with her!" Rory threw back. For a moment Gale was worried he was just about to reveal too much— he knew he should've kicked him out of Katniss's house that day before he could hear any of what they were planning— but he didn't. Not that what he did finally say made him feel any better. "She didn't want _you_. She left the district with another man. A _better_ man."

Both Posy and his mother gasped. "Rory!" the older woman exclaimed, turning to give her second son a reproachful look.

Gale clenched his jaw, trying to keep his temper in check. Rory knew exactly what had happened that afternoon when Katniss decided to leave, knew exactly why Katniss had left with Mellark instead of him. And Gale knew better than to rise to his taunts: him and Katniss, they understood each other. They were the same. She knew he couldn't leave his family unsupported any more than she could keep from going to Prim. If they had had time to sort it out, he would've been right with her on that train to the Capitol. She would not have chosen anyone else to have by her side over him if her hand hadn't been pressed by time. They were partners. He had to believe that.

But Rory was angry, and he was lashing out, trying to hit him where it hurt. The fact that his own brother could be vindictive enough to throw his feelings for Katniss back in his face after everything Gale had sacrificed for his well-being, _that's_ what really pissed him off. "Listen here, you little punk—"

"No!" Rory cut him off, narrowing his eyes at him. "I'm done listening to you. And you know what? You say we're your responsibility, well, you can take me off that list because I just don't care anymore!" He brusquely shrugged off Vick's grip on his shoulder and stormed down the hallway until he reached the bedroom, the door smashing against the doorframe as he swung it closed and locked.

After the resounding noise died down, the four of them were left there in silence. It seemed neither of them knew quite what to say. Gale ran a hand through his head and turned to pull out a chair from their kitchen table, maybe a little harder than he needed to. He dropped himself on the chair; that's when his mother moved closer to him. "Are you okay?" she asked, rubbing at his shoulder comfortingly. "You know he didn't mean any of that."

Gale closed his eyes for a second and let out a tired sigh. On days like these he really missed Prim; she could always mediate when him and Rory got into a shouting match. But of course, even if they were at each other's throats, they were better off than Prim was at that very moment. "What am I going to do with him, Ma?" he asked, exhausted.

"There's nothing to do," she replied in a soothing tone, and he wondered if women had some kind of gene that caused them to become infinitely wise the moment they brought a child into the world. "He's going to be out of it until Prim comes back to us." She said "until," not "if," and he loved her all the more for it.

She let out a sigh of her own. "I know you only want to help him, Gale, but Rory isn't you," she pointed out. "And you shouldn't treat him like he's you." Clearly she was trying to convey that blame could be found on both sides of the argument. It wasn't the first time she'd told him something similar. "Now," she kissed his temple lightly, "come on. The broadcast is about to start."

She went to sit in front of the television with Vick (who had already "called" the couch for his personal sleeping benefit, again). Gale decided to stay where he was; he could see the screen just fine from the kitchen table. Posy pulled out a second chair and stationed herself beside him, leaning against him as they watched. Well, at least _one_ of his siblings loved him.

A couple minutes later, once the advertising space was over, the Capitol seal came up on the screen, announcing to all that the live transmission had started. He prepared himself to tune out Flickerman's usual introduction to the scoring procedure, what type of skills the Gamemakers took into account for each tribute, the scale used, and such. It was exactly the same every year; he could recite it by now.

However, Flickerman's image never came up on the screen. Instead, the Capitol seal started flickering on and off, getting distorted by scratches and glitches. Gale was on his feet and walking up to the TV in a split second. This was the exact same thing that happened during the Tribute Parade and he would waste no time wondering what the cause was. It had to be some kind of rebel interference.

He snuck a glance at his family, all of whom were as surprised by it as he was. Nobody asked anything this time but he knew at least his mother had to be thinking along the same lines as him. What would it be this time? The scene from the Reaping again, maybe, in case anyone missed it before? Or would it be something new? He was expecting some kind of "title card," like the one they used the first time around, to let them know exactly what the message of this interruption was. But there was none this time around. This time, it was different.

The seal was cut off abruptly and the signal switched to a scene with a drab, grey background. It was slightly textured, like concrete. The camera was aimed right at a wall, probably? In the foreground there was something that looked like the edge of a bed, but only part of it could be seen: just a part of the metallic frame to the far right and the off-white linens that covered the mattress.

That was all there was to see for the first few seconds— Posy had already begun to ask what that was supposed to be— but a moment later a young man moved into the camera frame, sitting down on the bed and giving a small nod to the camera, as if confirming he was ready for something. Posy's question trailed into a gasp. Then the man started speaking.

It was Peeta Mellark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I love the Hawthornes. With all my heart. Particularly Gale and Rory. Every time I read a scene where the sibling bond between those two takes a beating, I can feel my heart clench in my chest and I just feel like crying. Which almost never happens in other circumstances, because I'm not much of a crier. At all. But they get to me _that_ much. And then I go and write it into my own fanfic. Ugh, why do I do this to myself? ;_;
> 
> On the other hand, the chapter I just finished writing, chapter 25, is one of those BFD (Big Freaking Deal) chapters. It was tough to get the tone of certain key characters right, but I am SOOOO excited I finally got around to writing it. So that, at least, puts me back in a good mood. :) You guys can't imagine what's coming up, I really hope you're all going to love it.
> 
> Sorry there was no Madge in this chapter! You'll be getting her PoV just a couple of chapters from now, though. No worries there. In the meantime, don't forget to follow my LJ and/or tumblr (I post excerpts of future chapters there), and please let me know what you thought of this! I'd love to hear what you think Peeta has to say. ;)


	20. Katniss: Training, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 20: Training, part 2_
> 
>  
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

They had drugged her before she even got to ask about Peeta.

Her contact, a middle-aged woman called Jackson, injected some kind of sedative into her arm before she even knew what was happening and next thing, she was waking up in a couch at the safe house. Her commanding officer, Boggs, explained to her that it had to happen this way for security reasons. To say she wasn't happy about this was an understatement— more like she pitched a fit— but whatever demands she threw his way didn't seem to faze the old soldier.

She was so angry, for the first couple of days she attempted to completely remove herself from this plan. She couldn't _go_ anywhere but she could refuse to do what they wanted her to do— given that her sister was still not out of the Games and Peeta was left alone in the Capitol, she didn't feel like she owed them anything, and after the stunt with the sedative, she didn't trust them as far as she could throw them.

Then Boggs cornered her, and explained about District Thirteen. She was stunned. She knew this rebellion was bigger than her, bigger than her plan to rescue Prim... but she had no idea, she couldn't even imagine the real magnitude of it all. An entire district, hidden underground for the last seventy-nine years? An active military, willing and ready to openly oppose President Snow's regime? It had been hard to believe before that a small group of people, even if they _were_ Victors, could really do this— kill Seneca Crane? Sure, somehow they'd find a way. He was just one man. But bring down the entire government?

The existence of Thirteen changed things, and the conclusion was inevitable: it was not just rebellion. This would be war. A war that started with an offensive against the Hunger Games. Prim would get caught in the middle of it whether she knew it or not, and Katniss couldn't just let that happen.

Her fellow squad members weren't thrilled by her reappearance, as they were already inclined to look down on her because their entire role in this mission was to cover her back, like armed babysitters. Still, they had their orders and tried their best to get her up to date on all the planning.

She spent the next four days going over blueprints of the outside structures of the arena, as well as catering schedules, security rosters, and the like. She came to learn a lot about things she'd never even given thought to before. She didn't know, for example, that every year the Gamemakers had several different arenas lined up, and the final one wasn't chosen until after the Reapings, to increase secrecy. Nobody but them and the people involved in building them were in the know. Luckily, the rebels had an inside man who got them partial blueprints for the one that would be used that year.

They didn't have information about the arena itself, it was too risky, but they knew all about the outside structures. Those areas were only used during the first day of the Games; it was the only time the Gamemakers were on-site and according to Jackson, it functioned as a sort of VIP setting: people in the Capitol paid a lot of money just to see the Head Gamemaker press the button that rang the gong.

The area for the Gamemakers would be a tall construction, isolated from the rest of the guests, with guarded access. But it was surrounded by bay windows, from which arena activity could be monitored. The only way they could get to Seneca Crane was through those windows, when he stood up to release the tributes' platforms. So they had to know the structure not only of that specific area, but also the spectator boxes and the large network of service tunnels underground, to be able to get in and out unnoticed. They needed to know every detail about as well as they knew their own names, Boggs had said; it could mean the difference between success and failure.

The glass in the windows was specifically designed to withstand bullets, but arrows were heftier even if they were slower, which their weapons experts, whoever and wherever they were, had determined gave them a greater chance of getting through the glass and hitting their target. But arrows were seldom used for military purposes and soldiers in Thirteen were only basically trained in the use of crossbows, not to the level of expertise this operation required. That's why Katniss was the only one who could kill him: they were dealing with tough shooting conditions, a very small window of opportunity, and very few days to prepare. There was simply no time to train anyone else.

Whenever she wasn't in strategy meetings, she was down in the basement, practicing. She was used to her own bow and arrows and the ones Thirteen's weapons experts had provided were remarkably different, so she had to learn to use them. The bow was black, sleek, noticeably heavier than her father's (that one was made of wood, after all), but very well-balanced. Very elegantly designed, and also completely impersonal. The arrows were much the same, the combination of the two greatly increasing her accuracy even at longer distances.

Another good thing about spending all her free time practicing was that it kept her from thinking too much. She had no idea what was going on outside these four walls. They didn't tell her much; communication was restricted and shared only on a need-to-know basis. To keep herself from worrying to death, she had to keep busy, and training helped... most of the time.

Nock arrow. Aim. Release.

_They were finally back home, to Twelve, her and Peeta and Prim. But when they made it to the place where the Mellark bakery usually stood, they found nothing but a pile of still-smoking rubble. When Katniss knocked on the door to the Undersee home, the Mayor looked at her for a moment, and told her nobody by the name of Madge lived there, she must've come to the wrong house by mistake._

_She took off at a run for the Seam; it took her but a couple seconds. She made it to the Hawthornes' lot, and just as she was about to rush up the porch steps, she tripped, falling forward, forearms scraping against soil and grass. There was nothing there. No house, no Hawthornes._

_She ran toward the mines. Miners were filing out after a hard day's work, Gale was among them. But just as she was about to take a step toward him, a blaze of fire and heat erupted from the entrance, destroying everything in its path. Engulfing Gale. The huge explosion rocked the mines, the Seam, the entirety of her district. And she knew it was her fault. All her fault._

Miss.

She shook her head, as if that could clear the images out of her mind somehow, and tried again. Nock arrow. Aim. Release.

_She was back in the train, and Peeta was by the tracks, running alongside the cars, chased by two Peacekeepers. Immediately she knew she had to help him. "Peeta, get down!" She didn't wait for a response— there was no time— she just pulled her bow and arrow up to position, took a second to aim, pulled the string and let go, the arrow flying in the direction she intended. It hit the man right on his neck._

_Not the Peacekeeper, but Peeta. His body dropped down to the ground and she felt a scream get lodged in her throat. She threw herself over the railing, stumbling when she hit the ground, and when she reached him she fell beside him, pulling his head onto her lap. The arrow was no longer in his throat but there was blood, so much blood._

_"Peeta, no, don't die, please don't die," she repeated over and over and over, tears dropping from her cheeks and mingling with the blood that was pouring out of the wound in his neck and running over her hands and arms and legs..._

_"You killed me," he rasped out raggedly, face going paler by the second, eyes growing duller as the life drained out of them. "I saved you, you and your sister, and you killed me."_

Her hands shook so bad, it was another miss.

She brought the bow down, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Before she knew it she was pacing. One, two, three steps to one side, turn around, and one and two and three steps to the other side. She needed to focus. Bad enough the nightmares were invading her mind at night, she couldn't let them get the better of her during the day.

She halted her steps and turned to the practice target. Once more. Nock arrow. Aim.

_Finally she made it to her mark. Her squad assembled around her in protective formation while she took aim. She could see her target clearly. There was no confusing the man; she'd seen enough of him on television over the years. Even just the beard was unmistakable._

_Her arrow flew, hitting the man straight in the chest. Fatal shot. He fell._

_But the body that hit the ground was not Seneca Crane's. No, it was smaller, slighter, more delicate. Pale skin, billowy fabric, gentle curves and a curtain of long, golden hair that splayed around her form, getting tainted by the spill of dark crimson blood..._

_"NO! PRIM!"_

She couldn't even shoot this time.

Holding back a growl of frustration, she dropped her bow and arrow on the metallic frame designed for them, and then sat down on the ground beside its feet, legs crossed. If she had been back home, this would be about the time when she would run to the forest and lose herself in the freedom of it all until she felt better, but there was no forest for her here. She wasn't even allowed out of the safe house. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, leaning her head back against the metal.

She was so tired. She hadn't slept well in days. The last decent rest she could remember getting were those few hours she got on the bedroom compartment on the train before they arrived at the Capitol. Back then (wow, it felt like a lifetime ago) she thought it was because she was finally sleeping in a comfortable bed for once. However, her bed here was also fairly comfortable and even then she still had nightmares every night. They wouldn't go away.

Of course, her situation had gotten a lot more complicated since then, and her subconscious was compounding all her fears and worries and transforming them into horrifying images that plagued her sleep every night. If she were back home, this would be around the time she made a run for the forest and stayed out there, basking in the freedom until she felt better. But she couldn't do that here. And there were so many things out of her control, so many things that made her anxious. She couldn't deal with it all.

The uncertainty of whether or not things were alright back at Twelve. The paranoia that she was most likely being hunted by the Capitol. The dread brought on by the fact that the day she would have to kill Seneca Crane was fast approaching. The paralyzing terror that Prim would have to go into the arena. And of course, the constricting guilt at having left Peeta behind, and having no idea what was going to happen to him.

She thought back to their last conversation, up on the roof of the Training Center. When she said she would come get him, she meant it. She hadn't been sure of this "let's convince them" idea, certainly not when she went to find him at the kitchens, but after hearing him say it, sound so sure that they could do it, she knew she wanted him by her side. In her head, she knew both Finnick and Haymitch had a point: bringing Peeta with her wasn't practical, and this wasn't her plan to alter, but she'd rather have him with her than not. Not just a person to watch her back, not just anyone, but _him_.

Maybe he'd already convinced her. He really was good at that.

It was... an odd feeling, for her. Some of the things he said were so idealistic, her rational mind hurried to dismiss them. She was not an idealistic person. The world they lived in was a cold, difficult place and she couldn't allow herself to dwell on unrealistic dreams, not when she had her family depending on her. But somehow when he brought up his ideas, he sounded so sincere and so open, she didn't know how to react to it, let alone respond. For her, being open meant being vulnerable, but in his case, it just felt like... like that was the way he was. She only knew one other person who was as open as Peeta was, and it was her sister Prim.

The comparison came too easily to her, even though she tried not to think too much about what that meant. Prim was the person she loved most in the world, and Peeta... Peeta was a good guy. A great guy, even. It surprised her when she first looked past her ingrained doubts and suspicions to recognize it. She'd never been interested in making friends, she didn't need more people to worry about, but she knew it would be a lie to say she didn't care about him on some level.

Or maybe it was because she still felt indebted to him. Not only for everything he'd done for her recently... perhaps it stretched further back than that. Perhaps their lives had been connected since the day he gave her the bread that saved her life. Since his gaze across the school yard helped her find survival in the first dandelion of the spring. That was something she could never shake, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't want to. He wasn't a boy anymore, but he would always be the boy with the bread to her, the one who'd taken a beating from his mother to help a starving girl when he didn't have to.

She'd never thanked him for that. She wanted to; she'd always wanted to, for almost ten years. She didn't like owing people anything, but what could she ever give him that was enough to repay such enormous kindness? The least she could do was convey how grateful she was, but she never did. It never seemed like the right time. And now there he was, risking more than just a bruise this time, again just to help her. The emotional debt kept piling up, she felt it almost like a physical weight on her shoulders.

She almost said it, that night on the roof. She had walked into the elevator, her hand still warm where he had touched it, even with the chill of the wind. She pressed the button for the second underground floor and readied herself to go back to the Avox quarters, but before she knew it, her arm was stopping the elevator door and she was calling out to him, a "thank you" hanging on the tip of her tongue. He turned to look at her and she opened her mouth to thank him, not just for that night but for _everything_... but the words wouldn't come out. So she blurted out something else, something easier. And now she may never get the chance to thank him again.

She wondered what he was doing right at that moment; was he still posing as an Avox? Was it safe for him there? She wondered what they'd told him about her departure— _if_ they'd even told him anything. She wondered if his opinion of her had changed now that she'd left without him.

That was something else he idealized. He seemed to have this superlative image of her in his mind, and she couldn't understand why. It confused her. It was almost irritating, actually, because she knew she wasn't as great as he made her sound (quite the opposite, really), but once again he seemed so honest in his admiration of whatever good qualities he saw in her, sometimes when he said these things, she, who had never really cared what other people thought of her, found herself wishing she could live up to that image. She found herself wishing she could be the person she was in his eyes, even though most likely she would end up disappointing him— maybe she already had. He probably hated her now. She'd left him behind.

She hadn't meant to. They forced her. But that didn't make her feel any better.

She sighed. Nothing was going to make her feel better at that point, that much was obvious. The only option that had mildly helped was her training, so she stood up and, grabbing bow and arrows again, got into position and went for a few more tries.

As she was getting into her stance for a fourth or fifth shot, the door to the room opened and she immediately turned, arrow trained in the direction of whoever had just come into the room. It turned out to be Boggs, but could she be blamed for being jumpy? No way to know when someone was walking around with a syringe these days. To his credit, the man didn't even flinch. "Getting some practice in, Soldier Everdeen?" he asked, lifting a heavy case of sorts onto a metallic table stationed against a wall, a little ways away from the door.

She lowered her bow, reluctantly, but couldn't help but frown at being called by "rank." It was a Thirteen thing; apparently everybody over fourteen was given entry-level rank in the military, and referred to as "soldier" from then on. She'd told him and Jackson repeatedly that she didn't care for the title as she wasn't from Thirteen to begin with, but they paid her no heed.

She didn't respond to his question, but he didn't seem bothered by it. They were all used to her silence by now. "Come here, Everdeen. I've got something to show you." He started to open the case; it had a couple separate sets of locks. She acquiesced and moved closer to him, figuring it would be some kind of new information she'd have to study for the mission.

Instead, she was surprised to find that inside the case, nestled in thick, protective lining, was her father's bow, as well as her quiver with arrows she'd brought with her from Twelve. "I believe this is yours?" Boggs asked her, though she was sure her expression more than gave it away.

She stretched out a hand, touching the wood as her eyes traveled down the frame of the weapon, checking for any possible damage. It seemed to be in good condition, as far as she could tell. "You're giving this back to me?" she asked him, still a little shocked. "Why?"

He shook his head, just a little. "We know you've been having a rough time with everything," he started, and she wondered who "we" was. Him and Jackson? The entire squad? The rebels? "You won't be using it for our mission— that's what the black bow is for," he added, looking down at the weapon she held in her hand, "but it's always better to have something familiar with you."

_Because, of course, that "something familiar" couldn't be my fake husband,_ she thought somewhat bitterly. Not that she wasn't thankful to have her father's bow back— she hadn't seen it since that night they got caught on the train, and with everything that happened she hadn't given much thought to its whereabouts, but the immediate comfort that surged in her just from seeing it again was undeniable. "If this is some kind of bribe to get me to adjust my attitude, it's not going to work," she sentenced.

He gave her a level gaze. "This mission is crucial for the rebellion. And immensely dangerous for us, and you as well. We will all have to put our lives in our fellow soldiers' hands, and for that, you have to trust us." He shook his head again. "There's enough tension in the battlefield as it is."

"Well, I'm not a soldier," she stated, cutting. "Trust has to be earned. And if you want to earn mine, you might want to start by actually telling me things," she emphasized the last three words, even though it seemed she had made this request a thousand times already. "I _need_ to know what's going on outside."

Once again he was pensive as he stared at her, quiet for a moment as he apparently measured his words. She was just about to insist when he relented. "Peacekeepers have cracked down on Eleven," he started. He turned around and, crossing his arms, he leaned his weight against the edge of the table. It was the most relaxed she'd ever seen him— for once it didn't look like he had a pole up his back. "Because of your altercation on the train," he continued explaining. "They thought someone was trying to steal coal."

She frowned as she processed theis news. "That makes no sense." Peeta told her he'd seen the forklift driver leave so all the coal had to have been unloaded. How could any of it be missing? She knew there might be backlash because of the four dead Peacekeepers, they hardly needed to fabricate some kind of phantom motive...

Boggs smirked. It was a strange expression to see on his face, since he was always so serious. "Nobody would dare accuse law enforcement of being smart," he told her and, alright, that was a good point. "They are, however, very paranoid. They've been taking it out on the district ever since."

Her heart sank. "We never meant for that to happen." When they first came up with this plan, she never meant for anyone else to suffer because of it. Not her sister, nor Peeta, much less the poor people of District Eleven who probably had it bad enough even without adding this on top of everything. But of course, because they needed her for _their_ plan, Cressida and her crew had never reported the incident as an attempt to stow away on the train, and the Capitol needed someone to blame, even if they had to fabricate a culprit.

He must've noticed how her face fell. "Don't feel bad. Things are bad for them now, but we don't plan on letting it go on for much longer." This time she knew by "we" he meant the rebels in general. "It actually worked out in our favor," he added, as if pointing out an obvious fact.

It didn't sit well with her, the idea of ever seeing innocent people suffering as a good thing, but she knew well enough by now that he, as most of the people involved with the rebellion, thought of such things in strategic terms. "What do you mean?"

He paused a moment, his eyebrows rising for a moment on his forehead as he contemplated something in his mind. "The people feel they're being treated unfairly, and they're rebelling."

Hearing such a thing admitted so casually startled her, and she turned fully toward him with wide eyes. "There's an uprising? In Eleven?" Not being very careful at all, she dropped the more advanced bow and arrow, which she had forgotten she was still holding, on the table beside the large case that housed her father's bow. The weapon clanged as it hit the metallic surface.

He looked down at her with something akin to pride. "Apparently a young woman from another district showed them that they don't have to take crap from Peacekeepers anymore." He nodded at her, and the idea crossed her mind that he might be stopping himself from giving her some kind of awkward salute. Instead, he clapped her shoulder lightly. "You're inspiring people, Everdeen."

She remained silent, trying to take it all in. She hadn't really understood, when Finnick Odair told her she was "the face of the rebellion," how it was even going to work. But somehow, it had. The rebels had spun her moment of desperation into a sign of defiance, and it paid off. Somehow she wound up being an "inspiration," when she never intended it.

One thing was for sure: this revolution, this war, was looking more and more plausible by the second.

Boggs pushed away from the table, dropping his arms from their crossed position as he did. "I'll be going into the city tomorrow. Need to get in contact with some people." She knew he wouldn't be more specific than that; he might be willing to tell her some things now, but that didn't mean she could know _everything_. Some information was still classified, she understood. "I may be able to check what's been happening with your husband."

She nodded, appreciative of his offer. She needed to know that Peeta was okay, what they were planning to do with him. Anything was better than nothing. "And my sister, if possible?"

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "We'll be hearing from your sister soon enough," he assured her.

As if on cue, the door opened again and another member of her squad, a woman in her late twenties she had come to know as Leeg 2, poked her head in. Well, from afar she _thought_ it was Leeg 2— she and her sister were nearly identical, so she couldn't be sure. "Uh, Commander," she said with a nod in Boggs' direction, stumbling over the word slightly, as if she hadn't been expecting to find him there. Then she turned to Katniss. "Everdeen. Thought you'd want to know your sister got a seven." She paused for a second only to make sure they had heard her, and then she went away.

Boggs seemed impressed. He was looking her way as if it had been her being assessed instead of her sister. "Seven. Huh. Not bad," he muttered. Then he gave her another nod (she understood by now that was how military people greeted each other in more informal situations), and moved to the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts again.

She closed the case that held her father's bow, being careful to close the locks correctly. She pushed it further back on the table until it was against the wall, then picked up her Thirteen-issued weapon. She wasn't done with her practice set yet.

Boggs was right; a score of seven was pretty good; it was in the range of scores the Gamemakers usually gave tributes that didn't have impressive offensive abilities, but could at least survive in the arena and escape from danger if they had to. That was precisely what she had wanted for Prim. At the very least, it told her she'd be able to hold her own... until the rebels got her out.

This was really happening. A real revolution. It wasn't just some crazy, impossible idea anymore. She could really get to see Prim again.

Boggs returned two days later. Katniss was relieved when he told her Peeta had been moved out of the Training Center and into a secure location much like the one she was in. They were afraid he could be recognized just as much as her. She was glad to hear that he'd be okay, but the news also made her feel even guiltier: when she came to know about the rebels using her outburst to incite insurgence in the districts, she hadn't even stopped for a second to think that Peeta might've been in the clip as well. And what about Gale? Could they recognize him, as well? That, Boggs couldn't say.

Another big relief was that when Boggs came back, he brought a portable computer with him. She had never seen something like it before; the only computer she'd ever seen was in Mayor Undersee's office, one day she'd made her way to the Justice Building looking for Madge. She'd been impressed then, but looking back that one was big and clunky, with several separate parts; compared to the sleek, simple model Boggs carried with him, the Mayor's computer was a relic.

Boggs' computer would allow them to watch the Tribute Interviews as they aired live. It took a little while— they missed just about the first half of the interviews, which Katniss was put off about because those were the Career districts and the biggest threat to her sister— but eventually they got everything set up in the common room. As Caesar Flickerman made his appearance on screen, Katniss found herself sitting on a tough couch, sandwiched between Homes and Leeg 1.

"Well, Govi," Flickerman, in all his lime-green glory, asked the girl from Ten. "Let me just compliment you on the dress you're wearing. It is quite... fetching," he finished suggestively. Of course he had to say that: the girl was wearing nothing but some sheer, glossy fabric and strategically placed strips of leather. Clearly, they were pushing the sexy angle with her, even though Katniss had mentally labeled her as "threatening" despite her fairly good looks. Most of the squad seemed to agree with her assessment.

"Eh, the dress works for me," Mitchell commented off-handedly from his position on a side chair. Clearly he had forgotten he was mostly surrounded by women, because he seemed surprised by the four repulsed glares he received. Five, actually, because even Boggs sent a cross look in his direction. Sure, she was dressed up to look alluring, but the tribute from Ten was, what, seventeen? While he was well into his late thirties. Thankfully he had enough sense not to mention anything about Thirteen needing to bulk up their population numbers, because that would've cemented him as a total creep.

She didn't even pay attention to the boy from Ten or the two from Eleven; for her it wasn't soon enough when finally Prim got called to the stage. She was wearing a white dress with a high waist (Jackson called it "empire style," though she said she had no clue which empire that was), and slightly puffy cap sleeve. It was such a pure shade of white it even managed to contrast against Prim's pale skin, making her face seem rosy and healthy. The bottom of the skirt, flaring slightly out at her knees, was lined with little blue crystals, the exact shade of her eyes, in the shape of flames. When she moved and her skirt waved around her legs, they would shine with the light, reminiscent of the fire that surrounded her the day of the parade.

Her hair was loose, flowing over her shoulders with very delicate waves in it; she'd never seen Prim's hair styled that way before, but it looked soft and shiny. So innocent. She also noticed almost absentmindedly that she was wearing high heels. And make-up. Like a woman.

Katniss pulled her feet up on the couch and wrapped her arms around her legs as Prim came up to shake Flickerman's hand. She was smiling brightly and even waved a little at the crowd. She vaguely heard the others comment on how natural she seemed. That was good, but Katniss knew her, and she could see the nervousness hidden in her eyes.

"Welcome, Primrose," Caesar greeted as they both took their seats. The applause was only starting to wind down.

"Please, call me Prim," she replied, giving him a soft smile. "It's an honor to be here." Of course it wasn't, and she knew Prim wasn't naive enough to be dazzled by the sparkle and splendor of the Capitol and let herself forget that they were simply fattening her up for slaughter. Still, she had an image to present to the sponsors.

"Prim, then," Flickerman replied, with a nod and a very plastic smile back in her direction. There was a short exchange where he told her she looked lovely and she gamely replied that she thought his hair was very dashing, which the audience seemed to gobble up. As far as they were concerned, it was like Caesar and Prim had been friends forever; the man was really good at drawing out the best of each tribute. "You come to us all the way from District Twelve," the host continued speaking. "Tell me, how are you liking the Capitol?"

"Oh, it's been great. Everything's so beautiful here," she responded. It hurt a little to hear her say that, because she knew it wasn't true— how could her time at the Capitol be great when she was away from everybody she loved, and in mortal peril? She could see it behind the waving and smiling. And then, almost like she could read her thoughts, Prim added: "The food is really good. I almost wish my sister could try it, she would've loved the food. She always says it doesn't matter what food tastes like as long as it's food." That was true; Katniss could remember plenty of instances when she reminded Prim that any food was better than no food. "But I know she would've loved it," she said, stretching out the word "loved" in an enthusiastic manner. Then she lowered her gaze toward her hands in her lap, and Katniss knew that last remark had been just for her.

_I'm here,_ she wanted to scream. She wanted to grab her and hug her, and never let her go. _I'm watching you. You're doing amazing. I'll save you. Wait for me._ But of course, she was only watching through a screen and Prim could never hear her.

Caesar seemed to notice her change in mood. "That's right, you have a sister," he said. Most of the Capitol probably had no idea of that fact, given that the clip of her punching Mendel had only aired in the districts. Caesar visibly flinched, though he dismissed the movement by pretending the stage lights hurt his eyes for a second, but Katniss didn't miss it. She figured he was probably directly instructed to avoid talking about Prim's sister.

Prim nodded. "She's older than I am," she added before Caesar intervened, a little wistful. "She's the best sister in the world. I love her more than anything." Katniss covered her mouth with one hand— she was biting her lip so hard she might draw blood, so she had to find another way to keep quiet. Out of the corner of her eye she could see almost every single member of her squad turn to look at her none too subtly, but she ignored it, focused only on Prim.

There was a clear "aww" from the crowd, and Caesar looked at her, seemingly sympathetic. After a pause, though, his expression turned mischievous. "I hear you have someone _else_ waiting for you back home. Someone _special_ , maybe?" Caesar asked, clearly eager to stay away from the topic in question. The hint was clear.

His tone was clearly teasing and she responded to it beautifully, a rosy blush immediately appearing in her cheeks and spreading to her chest, standing out against the white of her dress. "Yes, my boyfriend," she admitted, smiling though her posture was a little timid. "We've been together for a long time. We were actually thinking of getting married when... when we were out of the Reapings," she added, her voice cracking a little as her smile dropped.

The audience reacted accordingly. It was common for Flickerman to ask about boyfriends and girlfriends in these interviews, but few of the tributes had plans this serious for their relationships. Usually they wanted to seem completely detached (it made them seem unemotional, more threatening) or on the coy, just-having-fun side (which made them seem younger, with a world of options ahead of them).

Katniss felt her heart grow heavy at her admission. Obviously it wasn't a lie; she knew Prim and Rory had been thinking about marriage for a while— Gale had repeatedly told her as much. But this was the first time she heard her sister actually put it in words, and she wasn't sure how that made her feel.

Flickerman took a hold of her hand and almost consolingly lamented that the Games had put a damper in her plans. She shook her head and assured him, in a tone more confident than Katniss would've expected, that she'd just have to make sure to win so she could go back to him. Caesar took that as his cue to go back to his usual line of questioning. "And may I ask how exactly do you intend to make that happen? Say, what is the one thing you have over the other tributes?"

She was very serious as she replied. "Well, Caesar, let's just say I'm the only one here who really understands how immense the number is of ways a human being can die." And then, making use of what was left of her three minutes, she proceeded to give examples of what she just mentioned. Plants which, if ingested or put in contact with the skin, could make a person bleed out of every orifice in their body... Certain spots which, if hit correctly, could make a person hemorrhage internally before they even realized they'd been hit at all...

The audience responded to that perfectly, every single person in the crowd going almost eerily quiet. The contrast of Prim going from soft and sweet and looking like an angel one moment, to cold and clinical and talking about death the next stunned them all into silence. It was chilling. Katniss thought it was brilliant. It was hard to hear her innocent sister talking that way, but it was a brilliant strategy nonetheless.

Caesar was still flummoxed when the buzzer went off and he had to welcome Twelve's boy tribute to the stage. He was wearing all black except for the blue trim in his suit jacket, which she figured would be striking with his Seam appearance, but the people barely paid attention. Flickerman asked him only superficial questions, which was a good thing because the boy didn't seem inclined to respond in anything but monosyllables.

"Forgive me for saying this, Everdeen," Homes commented once the broadcast was over, "but your sister is creepy." She turned to look at him with a frown and he hurried to qualify: "I mean, she's adorable and all, but... she's _creepy_." He emphasized the last word so hard, it came out as three syllables instead of two.

Boggs saved him from being on the receiving end of the mother of all scowls when he moved to close and unplug the computer. "Alright, that's enough entertainment for tonight." The way he said "entertainment" made Katniss believe he thought it anything but, which she was grateful for. "Everybody get some sleep now. You'll need it for tomorrow."

It wasn't exactly an order, but everybody complied anyway. Katniss went to bed, hoping the nightmares wouldn't plague her that night. Boggs was right, she needed the rest.

After all, their mission was a go at 0600 hours the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, guys! Writing action is kind of my Achilles' heel, and that was pretty much all there was to chapter 26, so it took me a while.
> 
> Oh, Katniss. When are you going to realize that it's not the bed, but the _company_? -SMH- Meanwhile, I would not recommend going around shooting arrows at bulletproof glass. It won't work in real life, unless you, like Katniss, have a dedicated weapons expert (y'all know who he is by now, right?) making you uber-awesome, extra-oomph, eat-you-heart-out-Hawkeye arrows. And: "Govi," the name I've given to the female tribute from Ten, comes from the Hindu name "Govinda," which means "seeker of cows." Govinda is a male name, one given to the Hindu God Krishna, but I made up Govi from that.
> 
> I'd like to take a moment to reply to **Maya** , who left me a very insightful review last chapter, but unfortunately she left it anonymous so I can't reply directly:
> 
> All I can say about Peeta is: you're actually pretty spot on. He _is_ at this point still operating on the feelings he's had for Katniss since he was five. Katniss has told him a couple of times that he doesn't really know her, and she does have a point. But worry not, this fanfic is far from over (faaaaaar from it), and there are plenty of "life altering" situations coming up that will allow his feelings to mature.
> 
> Katniss being the "face of the revolution" is not about her killing Peacekeepers. In the books, she didn't become the Mockingjay because she was famous (not _just_ because of that, at least). It was because she defied the Capitol (with the berries), and she did it where the people of the districts could _see_ it. That pushed the discontent that already existed into action. Similarly in this fic, she'll be the face of the revolution because she defied the Capitol (by punching Mendel and refusing to give up Prim) and the rebels just happened to catch it on tape, so they can use that. It's not an _exact_ parallel, but I don't intend it to be exact, just similar. More on that coming in the future.
> 
> Anyway, in other news: as of last chapter, this fic has hit over 200 favorites and over 400 story alerts. You guys blow my mind with all this support, you really do. I'd love to hear from each one of you, though! Hint hint, comments and reviews are always welcome. :3 I hope you all liked this chapter! Next one's Madge, for those of you who were waiting for her. ;)


	21. Madge: Exit Strategies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 21: Exit strategies_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
>  **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.
> 
>  **Note 2:** I've paraphrased a quote from a late-90's romantic comedy in this chapter. If you can spot it, you'll probably know who my take on Madge is (partly) inspired by.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
The countdown came down to zero... and nothing happened.

Madge took a cursory look at the people around her before turning back to the big screens. It was obvious, from the murmurs suddenly emerging from the crowd, that everybody was confused by this. It was obvious, from the tributes' worried and anxious expressions, that they were just as confused as their audience was. She could see it in their eyes: Could they get off their platforms safely now? Should they wait until the gong rang? Would the gong even ring at all? What was happening?

One, two minutes went by and the cracks started showing. The girl from Nine collapsed to her knees and started crying, wailing hysterically, visibly upsetting the tributes nearest to her. The boys from Five and Eleven seemed to decide, around the same time, that just because the gong hadn't rung, didn't mean the mines hadn't been deactivated. So, almost in tandem, they each took a step off the platform...

She was just fast enough to cover her eyes when the explosions came. The screams from the crowd said it all. The anguished screeches of the girl from Nine became even more strident.

It was almost a full minute later that the gong finally rang, and Madge told herself, reluctantly, that she had to watch. Some tributes, the Careers in particular, jumped off their platforms right away, without a problem. Several others, however, seemed to still be confused about what happened and it took them a second to realize that the Games were officially on. Unfortunately for them, one second's hesitation at this point was one second too long, and they were easy prey. Nine's shrieking got cut off abruptly as the boy from Two snapped her neck.

Madge wrapped her arms around her torso to keep herself from shaking, and instead focused on Prim. She started running away from the Cornucopia just around the time the first tributes made it to the weapons stash. There wasn't as much action on her side, so the cameras weren't on her as much, and sometimes she had to switch from screen to screen to catch a glimpse of her.

This arena was different than most she'd seen in previous years. At a superficial glance it looked like a forest, which was a true and trusted option the Gamemakers didn't mind falling back on. Upon closer inspection, though, one could see it wasn't your usual forest arena. The Cornucopia and the tributes' platforms were located in a small clearing, but it was actually an island, a small patch of land surrounded by clear water. Out of that water rose the trunks of incredibly tall, imposing trees, the likes of which she had only seen in books. Each plant had to be over 200 feet in height and 15 feet in diameter, with a tall canopy of wide, green leaves that kept the area among the trees under permanent shade. If there was any solid ground further into the trees, she couldn't see it.

Prim was almost to the edge of the water, and Madge's heart was almost beating out of her chest. Was she going to climb the nearest tree? Higher ground was usually safer, but it would hinder her mobility, which could be fatal when she was so close to the Cornucopia. But could she risk going into the water? Did she even know how to swim? Few people in Twelve did.

Prim seemed to stop for a moment, contemplating just that, and Madge grew anxious by the second. _Don't pause!_ She was too focused on Prim to even pay attention to the rest of the bloodshed happening at the Cornucopia, but she knew hesitating even for a moment could make the girl a sitting duck. _Climb or swim, it doesn't matter, as long as you get away now!_

But just as it seemed she had finally decided how to move, she fell face down into the sand. Several people around Madge gasped, as did she, and she felt her heart jump up to her throat. The camera panned out to reveal that someone had thrown a weighted rope that coiled itself around her ankles and tripped her. The source of the attack was the girl from Ten, who was now walking up to Prim carrying a full length of rope on her shoulder.

Prim turned to look over her shoulder, and upon realizing who her attacker was, her eyes widened, her breath quickened and she started hurriedly pushing herself toward the water with her forearms, a slow crawl the best she could do with her legs bound together. The girl from Ten approached her slowly, her steps more of a saunter as if she was wholly unconcerned with the carnage happening around them.

Madge was holding herself so tightly, her fingers were digging into her sides painfully. _Please, no,_ she thought, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Prim's terrified expression on-screen. _Please don't kill Prim. Not Prim. She doesn't deserve this, please..._ The huge girl stood only about ten feet away from Prim and Madge was sure it was all over, when something that looked like a heavy metal rod hit Ten on the side of her head, hard.

It was KJ. The cheer that erupted from the crowd at the Town Square was deafening.

He didn't say anything, just rushed to try and get another hit. It was a testament to the superior constitution of the girl that she was already starting to get up when he swung again. Prim remained on the ground, pale and with her mouth open, almost like she wanted to scream, but it seemed nothing would come out of her mouth— whether that was out of fear, or shock that he had apparently saved her, they couldn't be sure, but it could be either.

She stared at the two of them grappled for the metal rod. The hulking girl was stronger than KJ; the struggle wouldn't last too long, but he gave back as much as he could. But suddenly he dropped into a crouch and rolled off to the side. The girl was pushing at him so hard, the moment the resistance disappeared, she tumbled to the ground, smacking right into the rod she couldn't let go of fast enough. The crowd was still reeling when he turned his head toward Prim. "I can take her, dammit! _GO!_ "

The audience resounded with exclamations of disbelief; one of them was Madge's. KJ actually got into a scuffle with one of the most feared tributes this year to help Prim. She couldn't remember something like this ever happening in her lifetime; tributes from the same district teaming up was rare. District loyalty could only get you so far when you were fighting for your life.

Surprising as it was, his exclamation shook Prim out of her daze. She sat up and started tugging at the ropes on her ankles, trying to get free. Once she was finally out of the hold, she took one last look at KJ, who was still struggling with Ten for the rod, and took off at a run toward the trees.

She made it to the edge of the sand and was about to go into the water when she noticed someone else had the same idea: the girl from Four, who could probably swim better than she could run, and was carrying something that looked like a complicated rifle. In the split second it took Prim to look in her direction, she was already executing a perfect dive between two tree trunks and disappearing under water. In the blink of an eye she had resurfaced.

Her anguished howls came out among gurgles as the liquid corroded the inside of her throat.

It wasn't water.

The sight stopped Prim dead in her tracks, barely a foot away from the edge of the liquid. Her face went ashen— a little green, actually. It was an expression Madge wasn't used to seeing on the girl's face, given that she worked with injured people all the time and years of doing so had made her immune to sights that would have most people reaching for a bucket. But Madge couldn't blame her; the skin was literally peeling off the poor girl's body while she was still alive to feel it, and it was just about the most gruesome thing she had ever seen in her life. She felt she might be sick herself. Several people in the crowd had run off to retch in a corner; she knew because she could hear the Peacekeepers ordering them to come back and keep watching.

She could see the helplessness in Prim's expression. She had an inherent instinct to help people in pain, but this one was out of her hands. _Don't try to save her,_ Madge thought desperately. She could see Prim start to inch her way toward the blistering mess that was the other girl. _You can't save her!_ But she seemed to have learned her lesson about hesitating, so she turned with an audible sob, and made for a tree trunk, making sure not to touch the liquid below her as she started to climb. Soon she was out of sight of the wide-shot cameras, and they didn't bother following her as she got away from the Cornucopia.

After getting the girl from Ten away from Prim, KJ continued fighting her, the struggle taking them to the opposite end of the clearing. The girl was bleeding profusely from the side of her head, ear and mouth, and she seemed to be favoring her right arm on purpose— perhaps her left shoulder was dislocated. KJ's nose was broken and bleeding as well, and a darkening in his jersey (which was what all the tributes were wearing, long-sleeved fitted jerseys and functional trunks), on his right side, prompted Caesar Flickerman to conjecture that he might have one or more broken ribs. And still both kept fighting.

The boy from One, who was skilled at knife-throwing, attempted to take out one or both while they were distracted with each other, directing one of his heavily serrated weapons to embed itself in the girl's already injured shoulder. This alerted KJ to the danger, however, and his second and third shots got dodged. He was not nearly as good when it came to close-range combat, so when KJ came at him with the metal rod, his knives didn't help him much. That was new as well: it was the first time a tribute from Twelve killed a Career tribute since... possibly since the time Haymitch Abernathy won his Games.

Just as the boy from One lost consciousness, a rope wound itself around KJ's neck. The girl from Ten had gotten up, savagely pulled the knife out of her shoulder and, making use of her one uninjured arm, lassoed KJ and started strangling him. The boy could not get out of it, the knot was too sturdy. He had nothing he could use to cut the rope. His struggle was short-lived.

It was one of the bloodiest bloodbaths of all time. Fifteen tributes died in total.

Once the broadcast was over and the Peacekeepers started herding everybody back home, Madge tried to push the horrible images of that night out of her head. At least Prim was still alive. Fifteen tributes— fifteen _children_ — were murdered in cold blood not just by other children, but by a bloodthirsty government that used them to deliver a sadistic message. Nothing could make that better, nothing ever did, but at least Prim still stood a chance.

It being the first day of the Games, there was a section at the front of the crowd reserved for the tributes' families. During the broadcast Madge had tried not to stare at the seat where Katniss would've sat, had she not left the district. Now, she found herself staring hard at it, to avoid having her gaze fall on KJ's mother, a frail-looking woman who was sitting just a few seats away, crying hysterically as she repeated "My baby! My baby!" over and over.

As she waited for her father, who was speaking to some merchants, she discreetly looked around, searching for a familiar figure. It had been over ten days since she'd last seen Gale. She hadn't been able to catch anything new on her father's closed-circuit TV, so she'd had no reason to search him out, and she hadn't seen him around town either, probably because the fence around the district was now permanently electrified and that meant he couldn't hunt.

It's not that she was expecting him to randomly stop by just to say hello; a couple of civil conversations didn't exactly make them friends. But she couldn't help but be worried: just two days previous there had been a massive cave-in at the mines, which affected several tunnels and trapped hundreds of men. Rescue crews were still working to get many of them out.

Her father had warned her to keep a close watch on the names of those confirmed deceased, because they needed to have a complete list for the medal-awarding ceremony which was customary when there were accidents in the mines. So every day that list grew, and she was scared Gale's name would wind up in there eventually. She didn't even want to think what would happen to his family if he died; it would be too cruel. She could only imagine they were already devastated by the situation with Prim and Katniss.

She looked around for a few more minutes. He shouldn't be that hard to find, he was taller than almost everyone in Twelve, after all! But there was no sign of him (or his mother, or siblings) anywhere. As her gaze swept past the edges of what remained of the crowd, she saw a large group of people gathering to the back of the square. These kinds of scenes were happening far too often for her liking.

"The Peacekeepers are settling a fight," her father commented as he came to stand beside her, his vision static on the commotion ahead. Madge nodded. She could hear the sound of the batons hitting flesh as the Peacekeepers brought them down hard against whoever it was they were punishing, the screams of the people who were observing the event directly. Even though she couldn't see because of all the people around them, she had to avert her eyes; it was almost like watching the broadcast of the Games all over again.

Her father went to try and stop the aggression or at least find out what it was about. He told her to go straight home, and she was feeling so bad already, she couldn't muster a protest. As she was walking away from the square through the few yards that separated her from her house, she took a look back and saw the Peacekeepers parting the crowd and pushing two men, hands held behind their backs, toward the Justice Building. They'd most likely spend time in jail until the Peacekeepers decided they had learned their lesson, or maybe they'd be put in the stocks for the night.

She was still walking forward while looking behind her, so she wasn't expecting it when someone grabbed her by her elbow. She couldn't help but let out a yelp. If her mother ever asked, such an unladylike noise never came out of her mouth. "Gale!" she exclaimed when she saw who her sudden companion was. "Goodness, you scared me!"

He looked down at her with something akin to amusement. "Were you expecting to get mugged right in front of the square, in broad daylight?"

She thought she was justified in being a little jumpy, given that she'd just watched fifteen kids be killed violently, but she wasn't that morbid as to bring it up, let alone in front of Gale Hawthorne of all people. "Sorry, you just... I'm still shaking from the nerves, I guess," she admitted. She tried to still her agitated heart. "I'm glad to see you're okay," she told him, sincerely. "I was worried, you know, with the cave-in."

He rolled his eyes, and she had the feeling he didn't buy that she cared enough to worry. "Yeah. The tunnels we were working on collapsed later. My crew managed to get out in time." He ran a hand through his hair. "Lucky me, I wouldn't want to miss any of _this_ spectacle," he added, signaling behind him toward the screens where the Games were shown.

She didn't know what to say to that, but she understood that the horrible broadcast they'd just seen was enough to put a sour note on anyone's day. Her own stomach was still rolling, and she wasn't the only one who had someone she cared about in the Games. "How's Rory doing?" she asked. The last time she'd seen the boy, he'd been visibly upset. She couldn't imagine how he was feeling now, having to watch the girl he loved run for her life in the arena.

Gale frowned. "Not good, I guess." His expression morphed into a grimace. "He hasn't been speaking to me all that much. At least Prim made it out of the bloodbath." It sounded like he was speaking to himself more than to her. "I don't even want to think what's going to happen if she doesn't..." He trailed off, almost angry at himself for even saying that much. Like voicing the fact that Prim might die somehow made the possibility more real.

"She'll be alright," she said, out of reflex laying a hand on his arm in a comforting manner. When she realized what she was doing, she pulled her hand back. "Two thirds of the tributes are already out of the running." It was so wrong to say that, mention these children's deaths like nothing but a statistic, but it did make Prim's chances greater and that was about the only positive aspect of this whole situation.

His expression immediately turned stony. "But she wasn't supposed to go in at all," he snapped at her. "That's what Katniss was supposed to—" He cut himself off abruptly, realizing that he was about to say too much. He paused, took a deep breath, and started again, in a lower tone this time: "The whole idea of Katniss going there was to make sure Prim wouldn't have to go into the arena. If she still had to go in, then that means Katniss..."

Once again he didn't finish the phrase, but she could follow the thought: it meant Katniss had failed. That's what really scared him. She was scared of that, too. As much as she kept telling herself that no news was good news, the reality was that they had no idea if Peeta and Katniss had even made it to the Capitol at all. Maybe they'd been found out and captured. Maybe they were already dead. They could be lying in a ditch somewhere and no one would be the wiser. But it was another one of those thoughts that were too painful to voice aloud.

"Well, it wasn't very realistic to expect her to do such a thing in two weeks," she said, trying to give it an optimistic spin.

"I know that," he glared at her. "It was the only way she could—"

Obviously he had misunderstood her. She immediately clarified: "What I meant was, maybe she's still working on it. Maybe she's still trying to get Prim out somehow, but it'll take some time. The logistics for the Games are really complex, after all, and they're just two people." She shrugged. "But we have to believe they're still trying."

He seemed to still be biting back whatever it was he was going to say before, but managed to keep it in. Instead, still frowning (but when was he ever _not_?), he huffed a little and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Look, I just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving."

That was the last thing she had been expecting to hear from Gale, and her immediate reaction was to question his bad timing. There was no way he could get to the Capitol at that point: the train with the mail had come and gone, and the next train (mostly imports from other districts) would not be coming in until four days later, and not leaving until the next week. The Games usually delayed all train schedules.

But then he said he wasn't going to the Capitol but to _District Thirteen_ and— looking more excited than she'd ever seen him, which was actually kind of bizarre— started going on about video feeds, and nuclear weapons, and mockingjays flying over Justice Buildings, and she thought that maybe she should've questioned his _sanity_ , instead. She knew doing so would only make him angry, though. "Maybe they're reusing footage," she suggested, trying to sound helpful. "It's happened before."

He scowled at her for a moment (right, she'd made him angry anyway), then shook his head. "What if they're not?" The usual edge of disgruntlement was creeping into his voice again. He stepped closer to her so she would hear his words through clenched teeth. "What if there's something out there and they're trying to hide it? Even if people wanted to check, they wouldn't survive in the forest. But I can. So I have to."

She wondered at how adamant he sounded. She didn't know him that well, but she knew he, like Katniss, was very rational. He wasn't the type to be reckless... not with his family's well-being on the line. Not unless he was doing it for a reason he considered equally important. Usually Katniss. But going off to look for dead cities in the wilderness was not something he was doing for Katniss. Or was he? "Does this have something to do with what Peeta—"

"This has nothing to do with Mellark, okay?" he cut her off a little too quickly, and it was that, more than anything, that told her yes, this had _everything_ to do with Peeta. "He can say whatever he wants, I don't care," he continued, cutting in his dismissal. "All I know is, there's a rebellion going on, and for some reason they're using Katniss to get the districts' attention. But it hasn't touched Twelve yet. The only way to get involved is to go to it, and I think Thirteen has something to do with it."

Honestly, she couldn't blame him for being upset over the unexpected revelations the day the training scores were announced, so instead she tried to remain conciliatory and appeal to his rational side. "So you're going to risk your neck by going across the very _electrified_ fence and into the forest... because of a bird?" Her tone conveyed the absurdity of this plan in what she hoped was a careful manner. "Did you not see what happened to those men a few minutes ago?"

He scoffed. "Katniss managed to get out just fine."

"That was before Thread," she pointed out, smartly.

"Listen, I didn't come here to get your permission, alright?" he threw back, clearly exasperated. "I just thought I'd have _common courtesy_ and let you know that you don't need to keep your ears open anymore." The emphasis was unnecessary; she remembered she had demanded just that from him, common courtesy, days ago. He clenched his jaw. "I'm taking things into my own hands now."

Clearly, the more she tried to convince him this was a bad idea, the more determined he would be to go through with it, and frankly she was getting a little irritated herself, so she stopped pushing. "Alright. How will you get across the fence?"

"I'll figure it out," he replied, crossing his arms.

She held back the urge to roll her eyes. "What about at work? Surely someone will notice you're missing."

He shook his head. "The cave-in was really big, affected several tunnels. The mines will probably stay closed for two or three weeks. I should be back before then." He paused to take a look around, then continued speaking, apparently a little less agitated now, and thus better at keeping his tone in check. That was good, at least it wouldn't look like he was snarling at her anymore. "If I miss any mandatory viewings, they'll assume I'm still trapped down there, or probably dead," he added.

She had to admit that was probably what they would do. The Peacekeepers, and even her father's office, only received notice of miners confirmed dead, not those rescued alive or still missing. "When are you leaving?" was logically the next question.

"Tomorrow. Early," he said, with a small shrug. "I can only avoid Peacekeepers for so long. Don't wanna give Thread a chance to remember I lied to him about the whole Katniss running off into the forest thing." Once again he looked around, like he was trying to find someone. "I have to talk to Thom, see if he'll help out my family for a few days. Or maybe Bristel; he owes me anyway."

She knew how people from the Seam were when it came to other people giving them stuff. She'd sat with Katniss at lunch for years and the girl never accepted when Madge offered her some of her own food— even when she brought too much. It was a question of pride for her: what for Madge was generosity, Katniss saw as charity; like accepting help meant she failed at providing for her family. She knew Gale would be the same. But she would feel like the lowest person on earth if she didn't at least offer: "I can take care of your family."

As expected, he seemed galled by this. "What? No. I just said I'd ask Bristel." He was looking at her like she'd grown a second head. "You don't have to be involved in this."

"It's not a problem, really," she insisted. He shouldn't be getting more people mixed up in this, his plan was risky enough as it was, and it was unfair to trouble his miner friends with having to support four more mouths when they barely made enough for themselves. She could help... she wanted to help. "I've been taking care of the budget for the house lately, no one will even notice if I spend a little more—"

"If you have enough money that you can afford to just give away food, then you should give it to someone who really needs it," he interrupted her roughly. "My family will be fine without your help." She knew it had been the wrong argument to use, that he was sensitive about her being well-off while his own family struggled, but once again he was talking down at her like she'd insulted him when she didn't mean it that way.

"Would you stop being on the defensive for just one second?" she finally snapped. She hadn't meant for it to come out so harshly, but his attitude was so frustrating, she couldn't help it. Here he was, planning to get out of Twelve and leave her not only with guarding Katniss's secret all on her own, but also his own when he suddenly went missing, and he couldn't even have the decency to take her offer as the sign of good will she meant it to be? "I didn't offer to rub it in your face that I have more money than you, or to imply I'm superior in any way. And it's not charity," she added as he opened his mouth to object, knowing very well that's what he'd been about to say.

"I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing this for me," she stated, trying to hold on to her determination. She could feel her irritation giving way to anxiety, but she needed to get this out. She needed to say this. For possibly the first time in her life, she knew exactly what she wanted to say and she was going to say it. "I... I'm not like Katniss, Gale. I'm not like you. I'm not much of a rebel—I'm not even much of a spy. It's been like two weeks, and how much information have I produced? Barely anything." She sighed.

"You can afford to leave your family now, because you know even if things will be tough for them in your absence, if the rebellion wins, they'll be better off, and that's worth any risk. But I can't do that," she admitted. "I can't put my father's position in jeopardy like that." She shook her head, sadly.

"But just because I can't go and fight doesn't mean I don't see what's happening all around me. It doesn't mean I don't want to make things right. So if making sure your family stays safe and fed while you're away is the only thing I can do, then that's what I'm going to do," she marked those last words with as much resolve as she could muster. "Because I have to do _something_ — I can't just stay here feeling useless, Gale." She looked up at him, feeling like she had had a breakthrough even though her eyes were starting to water from the intensity. "I thought you of all people would understand what it feels like to be left behind."

He didn't say anything for what felt like a really long time, only looked back at her, his brow knit ever so slightly— not in his usual hostile manner, but more like he was thoughtful, or trying to figure something out. She took a small step back, realizing how close they really were standing. There was always a fervor to Gale's presence and attitude, but now he was looking at her like he was seeing her for the very first time. To have that intensity directed at her was... a little unsettling. "What?"

"Just..." he narrowed his eyes just the tiniest bit, like his attempt at figuring her out had led him to a conclusion he couldn't quite believe. "Just don't tell them anything, okay? Tell them I went to look for Katniss, or something." She guessed by "them," he meant his family, and she recognized that as an indirect acceptance of her offer, which she appreciated.

His mother and siblings would be hurt that he left without an explanation, that much she knew. But again, it was probably better not to involve them in this. Knowing too much was dangerous. "Everyone will buy that," he added. "They all think I'm pining for her anyway," he finished, sounding disgruntled.

She simply nodded. The situation had to be hard for him. She wasn't one to gossip, and she'd never inquired about the nature of Gale and Katniss' relationship, although she'd always thought it ran deeper than just friendship. Either way, she wasn't completely clueless: she knew most people certainly thought they were an item, and that many expected they'd get married eventually. Even if it was just a lie, and even if he did it to help Katniss, it must have hurt, having to tell basically the entire district that she'd "run off" with another man, and having to endure the pity that followed.

She looked behind her and noticed that the square was almost empty now. It wouldn't be a good idea for them to keep going with this exchange; not if Gale planned to lay low until the next morning. With less people around, there was more of a chance of a Peacekeeper catching sight of him, so she pointed out that it was better if he went home. He agreed.

He started walking toward the Seam, intending to take a back road to ensure he wouldn't be seen. She took a few steps toward her house, coming to a stop in front of the gate. She hadn't meant to say anything else, not really; but just as he was about to take a right at the tailor's, she found herself calling out to him. "Gale. Are you?"

He turned back to look at her. "Am I what?"

"Pining for Katniss."

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She knew she shouldn't have asked; it was none of her business, and it didn't change anything, anyway. But she couldn't help herself. She told herself she wanted to know because she didn't want him to hurt; she wouldn't tell anyone he went "looking for Katniss" if it would make even his family look at him with sadness. It wasn't fair to him.

He remained quiet, just looked back at her without any particular expression on his face. Then he put his hands in his pockets and turned on his heel, heading home. She pushed her gate open and walked down the path to her porch, reflecting on their entire conversation.

She'd have to think of a different cover story for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This sounds horrible, but I always wanted one of the tributes to get blown off by stepping off the platform too early. I felt Suzanne Collins set it up but then never used it... thought it was a missed opportunity. So I had to use it here.
> 
> 2\. I was THIS close (-raises index and thumb about half an inch apart-) to actually making the arena a gigantic cake. No, really. I was honestly tempted. I managed to reel it in, though. Sorry, Peeta, bb! :P
> 
> 3\. I know many of you were expecting KJ to last longer in the Games. Truth is, from the beginning I intended for him to die in the bloodbath, but then I was too much of a sap and gave him more of a backstory than I was supposed to. Sorry about that! You can rest assured, though, that his influence on the story is far from over. I promise.
> 
> 4\. Go ahead, tell me how crazy Gale's plan is. I'll be inclined to agree with you.
> 
> 5\. As of this chapter, _Ricochet_ is officially over 100K words in length. Lord have mercy...
> 
> In the meantime, though, I can't believe this fic has reached over 400 reviews! You guys! I don't even know what to say except thanks, and I hope you keep supporting this story as we go along. Still plenty of plot to go through! Next up is Prim's PoV, so get ready to dive fully into the arena. Don't forget to review! :)


	22. Prim: No More Crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 22: No more crying_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
Prim was so glad she listened to Haymitch and stuck around the climbing station at training.

The tree trunks were huge, so there was no way for her to wrap her arms around the one she was climbing like she did on the pole at the Training Center. It was sturdier than the ropes and climbing webs, however, and the bark was rough, giving her plenty of nooks and crannies to grab hold of, kind of like the climbing wall she used at practice. The branches were a lot higher up than any structure she had practiced on during training, so she had to keep reminding herself not to look down or she would lose her nerve, but eventually, she made it all the way up to the lowest branches.

She'd known, even seeing them from below, that there was something different about these trees. They looked and had much the same dimensions as the giant redwoods she'd seen in books, but the lower branches held no foliage; it was only the top of the canopy, the very highest branches, that held huge, forest green leaves, more akin to tropical flora, and packed so tightly, they blocked out the sunlight.

Once she hoisted herself up on the first branch she reached, it became clear: what from below had looked like a sturdy branch, actually had a flat top, around two and a half feet wide, more than enough for her to walk on normally, almost like a sidewalk, but high in the sky. Obviously, these trees weren't natural. She could see that most of the trees around her had similar branches, some even intersecting: clearly, the Gamemakers intended for the tributes to use these branches to move around the arena. There was nothing below her but a huge drop that ended in a swamp of some sort of caustic aqueous solution.

Death. Just death.

So she ran. She ran as fast as her legs could propel her, trying to get away from the Cornucopia, and the other tributes, and the sounds of pain and suffering coming from behind her. She didn't look around her, didn't check over her shoulder, she just ran. None of the other tributes crossed her path that first day.

She only slowed down when her feet started aching; their shoes did not seem meant for running or even hiking. She didn't have any way to tell time, only the small slivers of light that made it past the cover of foliage to let her know it was still daytime. But she figured she'd been running for a long while; surely nightfall would come soon.

She started looking around, trying to find a source of water or food, but saw nothing but trees. She hadn't seen any sign of wildlife: no bird nests, no arboreal reptiles, not even chirping crickets. Maybe if she climbed higher? But she was too tired, and she had already perspired too much. She didn't want to get dehydrated. She needed rest first.

The branches were wide enough for her to lay down comfortably, but for practicality purposes she laid back against the trunk of the tree, stretching her legs in front of her. She thought she was a calm enough sleeper that she wouldn't roll off the branches, but she remembered some of her climbing instructor's lessons: _If you're going to sleep in a high perch, make sure you're strapped to something because you don't want to roll over and fall off to your death in the middle of the night._ The only thing she had on her that she could remotely use to tie herself to the tree was her belt.

She realized, just as she was trying to figure out how to secure the belt around a large knot that protruded from the trunk, that the buckle was detachable. She twirled the little metallic cylinder in her hands for a few minutes while she tried to think what use she could give it, but eventually, it hit her: it was a spile. The Gamemakers had worked in tricks like these before. She remembered a few years back, the male tribute from Four had received a spile from one of his sponsors and when he inserted the instrument into a tree, water poured out of it. Maybe she could try that.

The possibility was a small glimmer of hope that bubbled in her chest, or at least it did until she heard the sound of the national anthem playing. With her heart in her throat she looked up, but she couldn't see the sky through the forest canopy. It was a little disconcerting— she feared the Gamemakers might intend to keep them in the dark about the fallen this year. A couple seconds after that thought crossed her mind, the huge leaves overhead started shimmering and images started appearing on the surface, like the leaves were a screen.

The boy from One. The boy from Three. The girl from Four, whom Prim had seen die in front of her eyes. All four tributes from Five and Six. The girl from Seven. All six tributes from Eight, Nine and Eleven. And then... KJ.

She fell against the tree trunk, unable to hold back the sobs that came up on her throat. KJ was dead. He was only fourteen. Just a kid. He had suffered so much already. It shouldn't have been him. He shouldn't have died. Why did he have to die?

Tears started spilling down her cheeks when it hit her that he probably died because of her. He saved her at the Cornucopia. The girl from Ten would've killed her if he hadn't intervened, and now he was dead. He didn't even know her, but he saved her, and she'd just run away. Ran for her life and left him there. She knew she couldn't fight, but she should've helped him somehow, there had to be _something_ she could've done... But she hadn't, and now he was dead...

She pulled her knees up to her chest and cried. She knew the cameras probably wouldn't find that very interesting— one more young girl breaking down during the Games, what else was new— so she let herself weep openly. She wanted to stay strong for Katniss, for Rory, for everybody, but she couldn't keep it inside; it hurt too much.

She cried for each and every one of those fifteen kids whose lives got cut short today. She cried for the people who loved them, who would never get to see them again. She cried for the people of the districts, who lived in fear of getting their children taken away from them. She cried for everybody who had ever been touched by the Games.

She cried for KJ, who had lived such a hard life, who had probably never known happiness, and who would never get that chance now. She cried for the people of Twelve, who could've been his friends. For the friendship she never got to offer him. For the great person she didn't get to know. She cried for his father, who never got to do right by him, and now never would. She cried for his mother, who had lost a part of her heart today.

She cried for herself. Because she felt guilty. Because she felt weak. Because she felt impotent. Because she was scared. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be back in District Twelve, in the places she knew and with the people she knew. Where she could lose herself in a smuggled medical textbook. Where she could play with her cat in the meadow. Where she could smile at her sister as she walked in from a hard day's hunt. Where she could wrap herself in her boyfriend's arms and feel safe from anything and everything.

She knew she shouldn't be crying; someone could hear her, and she needed to conserve water anyway. But fifteen children had died, and KJ had died, and she was going to die eventually, and she would cry if she felt like it. None of this was right, and someone _should_ cry about it. Dehydration wouldn't kill her in one night; she'd work on finding water in the morning.

Figuring Haymitch's advice had helped her this far (she felt horrible for doubting him), she decided to stick with his plan and spent the next two days trying to make her way to the edges of the arena. She knew the Gamemakers would eventually try to draw all the tributes together, especially since there were so few of them left after the bloodbath, but they weren't pushing that yet, so she was going to run as far away from the Cornucopia as she could. Or at least in the direction she thought was away from the Cornucopia— it was hard to tell which way she was going since she couldn't see the clearing anymore, and the trees obscured her view of the sun.

Her pace was slower than she would've wanted, though, because she was looking for water and sustenance at the same time. It had taken her a while to figure out how to use the spile; she didn't have that much upper body strength to insert the spile onto the tree trunks, and she didn't have any kind of blunt weapon she could use to help herself on that endeavor. Her shoes, flexible and close-fitting as they were, were obviously meant to facilitate climbing, not to hammer a spile into a tree.

Eventually she got the hang of it. The first tree she tapped into had produced a stream of clear, odorless liquid she initially thought was water. She was so excited she almost went to drink it immediately, but she had the good sense to remember Gale's words: _Test everything_. She touched the liquid with the very tip of her pinkie finger and it burned; it was probably the same caustic solution that filled the bottom of the arena, the one that had melted the skin off the girl from Four's body. Shuddering at the memory she immediately took the spile out, being careful not to touch the liquid.

Different trees produced different substances. Some were harmful, like the caustic solution. Some didn't cause any harm nor gave her any benefit, like a brownish liquid that caused a slight discoloration on the back of her hand but otherwise had no ill effects on her; it only occurred to her later that it might be some kind of iodine solution, which she could maybe use as a disinfectant, or to purify water. Unfortunately she had only come across that one once, so she'd have to wait until she found it again to really know.

Some of the substances she came across on the trees were very, very good. She eventually found water, and also a thick, transparent substance that tasted sweet, and after much deliberation she took a risk and decided it was probably syrup. Ingesting nothing but pure sugar for days was hardly adequate nutrition, but under these circumstances it would have to be her "food." It didn't feel like eating real food, but the sugar content would give her the energy she needed to keep going.

It didn't take her long to figure out that she could know which substance she would get from which tree just by looking at the foliage overhead. The size and width of each tree was similar, but their leaves were different: some were rounder and wide, some were narrower and long, some were lobed like maple leaves, and so on. She began keeping a mental catalogue of which leaves corresponded to which substance, and every hour or so she would stop to drink some water or have some syrup. For this reason her pace was slow, but at least she wasn't hungry or thirsty.

Thankfully, she had yet to come across any of the other tributes. By the second night, one more tribute had died: the girl from One. She didn't mean to be morbid, but she found herself wondering how she died. Did one of the other tributes get to her? Had she succumbed to thirst, maybe? If she didn't get any water from the Cornucopia and hadn't figured out the spile, she might have. Death by dehydration could take a week, up to ten days, but given the level of physical exertion tributes reached in the arena and the high temperatures during the day, it could've taken much less.

At one point during the second day, she thought she heard a rustle near her, like another person was running close by. She immediately grew alert, but there was nowhere to hide up there. She could only crouch down against the trunk, hoping its imposing width would conceal her from whomever it was that was near. She waited like that for a while, willing herself not to move, trying hard not to even _breathe_ for fear of giving away her position. But nobody ever made an appearance, and after a few minutes she decided to just run. She didn't stop to check if anyone was behind her. That night she wondered if maybe it had been her, if the one person who had come nearest to finding her was dead now.

There were only eight tributes left in the Games by then. The family interviews would be coming up soon, she knew. She wondered what Katniss would say; she was never the most expressive person, and she probably wouldn't take well to being on camera. Would they interview Rory? He wasn't family, technically, but since she'd brought him up on her interview with Caesar Flickerman, the Capitol would probably want to talk to him, too. She hoped they were both holding up okay. Once again, she went to sleep with a heavy heart.

In the morning of day three, it started to rain. Just like with the sunlight, the canopy of the trees managed to catch most of it, but a few drops managed to get through the small spaces between and when it touched her it burned her skin, it even burned through her clothes. She didn't feel any dizziness or shortness of breath, so she figured it was a just superficial corrosive— likely the same one she'd encountered before— and the burn would be the worst of it. It wasn't an excruciating pain or anything, it really just stung, but there was always the worry of it hitting sensitive places like her eyes or the soles of her feet. So she climbed up to the top of the trees, pulled out one of the big, impermeable leaves, and used it as a cover from the rain.

A few hours later, the rain had come down to a drizzle, and she contemplated if she would need the cover much longer; her arms were going numb from having them raised for so long. She was looking around for a water tree (mainly to drink but also to rinse a couple of burns she got on her fingers where she held the leaf over her head), when she caught sight of someone slumped down against the trunk of a nearby tree, in a branch lower than the one she was standing on.

She thought about running away, but she was intrigued by the posture. The person's guard seemed to be completely down. Was he or she asleep? Seemed strange, since it was past noon. Maybe he or she was hurt, or sick? She should check; if anything, knowing what happened to this person could help her avoid the same happening to her.

She moved to a different branch, so that she was almost directly above the person. From a closer vantage point, she recognized him as the male tribute from District Ten— he was maybe fifteen or sixteen, and generally eclipsed by his dangerous female counterpart. He was awake, his eyes wide open and his hands were on his chest, almost like it hurt. She was close enough that she could hear his deep, gasping breaths. She'd treated enough miners from coal dust inhalation to know when the desperation in their attempt to draw air in was real; he couldn't breathe, he was dying.

Her feet were moving before her brain even had time to remind her coming closer was a bad idea.

She climbed down until she was at his level, and approached him carefully from a nearby branch. He noticed her presence, his dark eyes widening even more, his hand stretching toward her shakily and then back at his chest, as if signaling desperately for her to help him, to save him. Her breath hitched; he was obviously suffering, and even though she didn't know him, even though she knew he would've killed her without a thought had he come across her under different circumstances, it tore at her. She couldn't stand to see people suffering. Nobody deserved such a horrible, painful death.

She took in the scene, a quick check to see if there was something she could do. There was a large gun lying at his feet, which she recognized as the oddly-shaped, rifle-type weapon the girl from Four had with her when she died. The boy must've picked it up afterward. She grabbed it and set it down on a different branch behind her, so he wouldn't be able to reach it and use it against her if he got better.

There didn't seem to be any physical injuries on him, no lacerations or bruising, save for a small cut on his forehead, which appeared to be about a day old. Nothing seemed to suggest physical trauma as the reason for his asphyxia. She thought maybe he had choked on something and the only solution might try and dislodge whatever it was from his throat, until she saw his spile was inserted into the tree beside him, a clear liquid dripping out. The thin stream touched his shoulder and didn't burn through his shirt, so it wasn't the caustic solution she was by now so familiar with. Poison, maybe?

She took a step closer to check his pupil reaction, but before she could, his eyes rolled back and he started convulsing. She rushed to him, hands shaking, but immediately going into healer mode. She'd already seen one person die without her being able to do something about it. She couldn't let it happen again.

She pulled him down so he was lying on the branch instead, so he wouldn't hit his head against the trunk, and then undid his belt and stuffed it in his mouth, to keep him from biting his own tongue during the seizure. His skin was turning an unnatural shade of pink. He had definitely ingested some kind of poison, but it was quick-acting and it was already too late for her to induce vomiting.

She knew it was dangerous, but she needed to know which poison it was exactly before she could even think of finding an antidote, so she leaned in and took a sniff close to the spile. She could barely smell it, it was just a trace, but she recognized the smell of bitter almonds. _Cyanide._ She had to hurry.

She looked around, eventually locating a water tree she rushed to; diluting the cyanide in his stomach might at least give her a little more time. But she didn't have a container to hold the water, so she was limited to what little she could carry in her cupped hands, and even then his involuntary writhing made it almost impossible for her to pour it down his throat. She tried with syrup as well— she vaguely remembered reading somewhere that sugar might be an effective antidote to cyanide— but that was equally hard to administer.

Tears were spilling down her cheeks by then. Once again, there was nothing she could do. For all her trying, she could only wait and watch as he died, all her knowledge worthless. But she was going to stay there. If she failed to save him, the least she could do was stay with him until he died. So she took the spile out, clearing the excess liquid from the branch with her shoe before she sat down beside the boy, crying silently as she tried to hold his torso, keep him from thrashing too hard.

It only took a few minutes for his convulsions to die down. He lost consciousness, looking almost like he was asleep. So still. She took his wrist and started counting in her head, feeling his pulse slow down little by little, until it was gone completely. It took less than fifteen minutes since she found him, for him to die.

His cannon came, and she knew she should move, that a hovercraft would come pick the body up soon, but she couldn't. She leaned against the poor boy's shoulder and sobbed quietly, hugging herself out of sheer fear and relief, and crippling guilt over that relief. Could this have happened to her? If she had come across this particular tree before he did, would she be dead instead? She hadn't even thought to check these substances for smell. And even if she had, there could be any number of poisons out there that were completely undistinguishable from water. Three days had passed, and it was sheer luck she was still alive. That couldn't hold much longer.

About a minute later, when she finally felt strong enough to move, she wiped her tears and stood. She picked up the boy's discarded weapon and stood in a branch a few yards away. She waited— solemnly, she felt; he deserved that much because she failed to save him— and watched as a claw descended and lifted the boy's body through the tree leaves and, she could only guess, onto the hovercraft.

She continued making for the edge of the arena. That night, as she waited for the fallen's faces to appear on the forest canopy, she examined the weapon.

It wasn't a rifle, as she'd initially thought. It did have a handle and a trigger, but the barrel wasn't hollow, instead it was a sturdy shaft of some kind of plastic material, about the length of her forearm, with a thick metal wire coiled tightly around it all through its length. There was a small box attached to the back of the handle, shut with screws, and it was pretty heavy compared with the rest of the weapon.

Two parallel tips, metallic and about two inches long, protruded from the very end of the shaft, where the muzzle would be on a rifle. They seemed sharp enough that they could penetrate flesh, but she doubted such a complicated weapon had been designed just to stab people.

Making sure to aim below her just in case, she experimentally gave the trigger a squeeze, and was surprised when a crackling tendril of electricity appeared between the two tips. Now that she knew she couldn't accidentally shoot herself, she lifted it closer to her face and once again hit the trigger. The electricity came to life again and she couldn't help but gasp. She'd seen power like this, when someone stupidly got shocked by the electrified fence back in Twelve, but she'd never seen it harnessed as a weapon.

She _had_ heard of it, however: if she remembered correctly, it was called a "cattle prod." They were used to get cattle to go where people wanted them to go. It made sense, then, that the boy from Ten had picked it up after the girl from Four died; it was probably meant for him from the beginning.

If it was strong enough to startle cattle, she could only imagine what it could do to a person. Maybe the voltage wasn't strong enough to kill, but it was a weapon that didn't require skill or brute strength; she just had to pull the trigger. It could be enough to get her out of a tight spot, get a would-be attacker off her back long enough for her to escape. Maybe she wasn't completely defenseless now.

The anthem came and only one face was shown that night. Seven tributes left. She wondered what was going on with the rest of them, where they were. Was the arena that big that they could go on for days without coming across each other? Why had the Gamemakers not done something to bring them all together yet? She wouldn't have thought the tributes dying one by one from dehydration or poisoning was sufficient entertainment for them. Or maybe they were just trying to stretch it out? It had only been three days, after all.

She was almost drifting off to sleep when her eyes caught the reflection of a small ray of moonlight on something that was falling from the sky. It was silver parachute. She rushed to climb up to the higher branch where it had landed, mostly surprised and excited that she had sponsors, but also somewhat confused that Haymitch was sending her something _now_ that she didn't really need anything.

But what she pulled out of the small container was not a gift from a sponsor: it was the mockingjay pin Madge had given her as a token from her district the day she was reaped.

She frowned down at the object she held in her hand, wondering what it meant. Why send it to her now? She appreciated having something from home with her, but a pin wouldn't help her in the arena. She couldn't eat it, she couldn't use it as a weapon (they wouldn't have let her have it if she could). She hadn't thought about that pin since the day Madge gave it to her. She hadn't even seen it since...

She gasped. "Katniss!"

And just like that, it was very clear. She didn't know what the pin meant to Haymitch, or how it even got from Katniss's hands to his, but she knew what it meant to her: it meant that her sister, no matter where she was, would always be by her side, supporting her, encouraging her, and never giving up on her, on them. They had been through so much pain and hardship, and they had made it through. She could make it through this, too. It didn't matter if all the odds were against her; Katniss would never give up, and neither would she.

The pin was a symbol of strength, of survival. It was a symbol of hope.

A tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek as she looked down at the golden circlet, but she wiped it away quickly. "No. No more crying," she told herself with a slight shake of her head. She remembered Cinna's words: _I think you're both cut from the same mold._ She smiled. "I'm going to be strong like you, Katniss. I promise."

She lifted the ornament to her lips, lightly kissed it, and carefully pinned it to her jersey, before closing her eyes and falling asleep, feeling in better spirits than she had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thought crossed my mind, as I was writing this chapter: what would people think if they could see my browser history? I mean, most of the time when people are embarrassed about that stuff it's because they're hiding their porn collection or something, yet here I am, looking up chemical burns and cyanide poisoning. Gosh, I really hope I never have to show it to the police or something. I doubt the "I was researching for a fanfic!" excuse would fly well. :S
> 
> Anyway, this chapter was pretty much heaven for my nerdy sensibilities. I'm a chemistry geek, what can I say. So of course I have some notes to make: that one brown substance Prim found in a tree was tincture of iodine, which is a solution of iodide/iodine in ethanol and water, normally used as a disinfectant on skin or to purify water. People often have it at home to rub on small cuts and it's commonly used in hospitals. I would not recommend living on syrup (that is, sugar) for any extended period of time— it may keep you going for a while, but it's hardly appropriate nutrition and it will have other consequences.
> 
> Cyanides are a family of highly poisonous substances. The cyanide ion binds to the enzymes that bind oxygen, which means even if you breathe, you're not absorbing anything. It has a slight bitter almond odor, but not everybody can recognize it: it's a genetic trait. I just randomly decided Prim would have that gene. Even then, I don't recommend trying to smell it because even in gas form it's highly toxic. The Nazis used it in gas chambers and it's a common component of military "suicide pills"... the "nightlock" pill in _Mockingjay_ , for example, could very well have been cyanide. There's a strand of medicine that's studying whether sugar might be a good antidote for cyanide poisoning, but this hasn't been approved by any international medical institutions.
> 
> And oh, one last morbid note, since you're all already convinced I must've been a serial killer in a past life: keeping track of which tributes are dead and which tributes are alive is damn hard, even when you're writing it yourself. My respect for Suzanne Collins increases with each paragraph I write, I swear.
> 
> More to the chapter itself: remember the rebel propos have only aired in the districts so far, so Prim has no idea what Katniss and Peeta have been up to. Speaking of which, I have to thank guest revierwer **Meg** for pointing out a slip-up on my part in the previous chapter. I've corrected it now. To clarify: Yes, Gale, Madge, and the entirety of the districts know _at least Peeta_ reached the Capitol. Madge is still worried, though, because it's been a few days since the last propo happened but they haven't heard anything new. And no, I'm not just going to ignore Peeta's appearance on TV. You will find out exactly what he said... just not yet. Sorry 'bout that, guys, but it's all about timing. :P
> 
> For those who were curious, the 90's movie quote I paraphrased in the previous chapter was from _You've got mail_ , starring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks: "For the first time in my life, [...] I knew exactly what I wanted to say and I said it." It's stupidly girly of me, but YGM is really one of my favorite movies ever.
> 
> **VERY important announcement :** Okay, here's the deal, guys: I'm moving soon. And I don't just mean picking up my things and moving to a new house, I mean I'm moving _overseas_. I'm starting a postgraduate course in Europe, so I'll be flying there by late September. With my new schedule I expect come October I'll have a lot less free time to write. I have the next few chapters well planned out, so I am still going to try my best to pump them out as fast as I can, but please have a little patience with me. I promise I will _not_ abandon this fic.
> 
> But well, there's still a little under a month to go before that happens! So for the moment, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll shut up now because my notes are nearly as long as the chapter itself. Reviews are always a great incentive, hint hint! See ya next time. :)


	23. Gale: In A Different Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 23: In a different light_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
Gale had been bluffing when he said he'd figure out how to get out of the district.

Well, partly; he knew he could find a way out (eventually) but he was more aware than he let on of how hard it was going to be. He knew "his" side of the woods very well, and the expanse of fence that separated him from them. He couldn't go under it (Katniss could, but even back when it wasn't permanently electrified his frame was much too big for that), so the only way out was by going above it.

Of course, going above the fence meant he had to find a way to get twenty feet off the ground and then safely back down on the other side. He knew there wasn't anywhere near that area where he could do this, not for at least half a mile on either side of the place by the meadow he usually went through. There were many trees that were tall enough, but very few had branches sturdy enough to hold his weight, and he wasn't going to risk breaking his neck by jumping off from that height, anyway.

So that day, when everybody was dismissed from the Town Square after the Games started, he decided to skirt the fence until he could find a spot that worked for him. He wasn't sure one even existed. He walked for miles until he finally found a place that looked promising: one of the old coal warehouses, about half the size of the Hob, which had been in disuse for years.

It was a creaky, run-down depot that hadn't been used for coal in over twenty years, not since the new outgoing warehouse was built on the opposite side of the Seam, near the train station. It was away from the Seam proper, almost hidden into a little niche, only the fence separating it from a dense patch of forest. Usually empty, but Seam teens would hold parties there sometimes, whenever they could con a couple bottles of white liquor out of Ripper. (He dimly wondered if that's how the rumor of her liking youngsters started, though he'd always been more than willing to turn on the charm, regardless, as long as it could get them free booze).

In the couple of weeks since Thread had arrived at Twelve, though, one of the first things he did was make sure people couldn't use it, and a number of similar warehouses that littered the Seam, for "unlawful assembly" or to store illegal goods (the Hob was the first one to go). So now doors were chained and padlocked, and every window or hole in the walls was boarded up. Thread had announced publicly that if people insisted on breaking in, the next step would be to burn these "condemned" buildings to the ground.

Fortunately for Gale, he didn't have to get inside it, he just needed to climb it from the outside: there was a huge black oak on the other side of the fence, and its branches had grown over the fence, almost into the structure of the roof of the warehouse. So the next morning, before it was light, he walked out of his house carrying nothing but his game bag, and inside it, a length of rope. He brought nothing else with him; whatever he could need, his family needed it more. He left only a small note where he knew his mother would find it, two lines he hoped would be enough: _Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I'll be back soon._ Undersee would have to fill in the blanks.

He managed to secure the rope on the edge of the roof, around a support beam that looked like it would hold. He piled a few garbage bags and boxes that were nearby and used them as a stepladder before hauling himself up with the knotted rope. It was tough, and he mentally thanked the forest for all the climbing experience, but he was still uneasy even as he made it to the top. It would be the biggest joke ever if, for all his usual bravado about routinely going into the forest and hunting among wild beasts, the dilapidated structure collapsed under his feet before he even managed to get to the other side of the fence.

Being careful to keep his weight balanced on both legs, he brought the rope up, tied it around his waist and grabbed onto the sturdiest branch he could reach. He felt patently ridiculous as he did (usually he had to climb up the trunk and onto the branches, not the other way around), and he was glad Thom and Bristel weren't around to see him in that position, or he'd never hear the end of it.

He made it to the other side of the fence and safely down the trunk of the tree in just a few minutes, but he didn't actually get on his way until much later. He had to go back following the fence, all the way to _his_ side of the woods, to get his bow, arrows and knife. He took the time to check his snare lines— whatever he'd managed to catch since he last was out in the forest was inedible by then, but he could use the wires and framework to set them up somewhere else, so he took the time to pick up as much as he could.

He paused for a little while at the spot where he and Katniss usually met up. For what felt like the thousandth time he wondered where she was, how she was doing. If she was okay. If she was alive.

It was late afternoon when he made it to the lake. He'd never been there before; Katniss had mentioned it a few times, how she used to go there with her father when she was younger, but it was too long a hike and they didn't usually have time to waste, focused as they were on hunting for their families. Now that he was there, however, he figured he'd be better off sleeping in the cabin than anywhere else, so he decided to stay for the night. He'd continue on his journey the next morning.

He made use of the last of daylight to set up some snares and to throw the fish lines. The waterfowl in the lake were barely even bothered by his presence, so it was easy to shoot a couple, one to eat that night, and another just in case nothing caught on the snares. He also picked some katniss tubers, to complement the game.

When night fell, he lit a fire. Normally he wouldn't risk it, because any craft flying above would be able to locate him by the smoke, but Thread cancelled the hovercraft sweep he had previously ordered just as soon as Mellark made his unexpected appearance on television before the training scores were revealed. There was no point in looking for him and Katniss in the forest when clearly they weren't there.

He thought back to Mellark's message on TV as he sat down to skin the ducks he'd caught. Just as it had that night, none of it sat well with him. He would never admit it to Undersee of all people, but the truth was that Mellark's little TV intervention, along with Rory's angry words, had shaken something in him, and maybe that had been a factor in his decision to go look for Thirteen.

It wasn't so much _what_ he said that really bothered Gale. He had known all along that Mellark had a thing for Katniss— the man had just about admitted it the last time they spoke. And yes, it irked him that Katniss seemed to humor Mellark's attempts at conversation when she usually kept a polite-at-best distance from everyone else she traded with. The baker was a likeable guy, and apparently even Katniss was not immune to it.

He couldn't deny that seeing Katniss become so quickly at ease with some other guy, particularly one who had designs on her, annoyed him greatly. Katniss didn't lend her attention and her time to just anyone, and it hurt that she would give it to this guy, this merchant, who didn't know what her life was like, everything she'd been through. Who didn't know her like Gale did.

So sure, he felt a little possessive. Katniss had never admitted to having romantic feelings for him, but they'd been best friends for years. They were partners. They understood each other. They'd been each other's support system when things around them got tough, and that meant something to him. He hoped it meant just as much to her— more than anything Mellark, or any other man out there, could mean.

But it wasn't jealousy he felt after Mellark's message on TV. Maybe a twinge of it, but that was normal for him; it wasn't what drove him to the forest in search of a lost district that might not even be there at all. Despite what other people might think, he wasn't just angry the baker was trying to steal "his girl." He knew very well by then that the biggest obstacle in getting Katniss to love him was not any "competition" he might have, but Katniss herself.

It wasn't that. It wasn't even the fact that the woman who was asking Mellark questions seemed to be under the impression that he and Katniss were _married_. Which they weren't. They couldn't be. It had only been two weeks, and Katniss had always insisted she was never going to get married anyway. That wasn't about to change so quickly. It had to be a ruse of some kind.

That's what really jumped out at him that night: the _why_. Why did they even need to put up that pretense? They'd gone to the Capitol to rescue Prim, and Mellark had somehow ended up on television. Gale wasn't stupid: he knew, as different as they were in tone, that latest broadcast interruption was just as much a message as the clip of Katniss at the Reaping was. A message from an unidentified rebellious faction to the districts.

Mellark was working with the rebels. And what about Katniss? The baker had said her name, so Gale had to assume she was in on it, too. Katniss had gone to the Capitol to save Prim. Mellark had only gone with her so she wouldn't go alone. How in the world had they gotten involved with that?

The bottom line was: not only was Mellark helping Katniss where he _couldn't_ , but he was helping her _rebel_. And Gale, outspoken Gale, who had never made it a secret that he hated the Capitol, and who should've been there by her side, encouraging whatever they could do to help bring them down, was stuck in District Twelve, unable to do anything but watch.

Maybe Undersee had a point: being the one left behind... that's what really hurt.

As he cooked the meat, he wondered how his family was doing back home, and how they had taken his absence. Did they buy the excuse he'd sent with Undersee? Speaking of which, had they accepted the help she offered? He may have agreed to it, but his mother was her own person, and as much from the Seam as he was. They had the same views when it came to receiving charity.

The difference was, if it helped her children, his mother would put aside her pride without a second thought, without guilt. She might offer to wash all of the Undersee family's clothes for free for a while, but he highly doubted she would refuse the help. It helped that the girl who was offering was so damn polite.

He snorted, imagining the Mayor's daughter walking through the Seam, carrying a giant basket filled with food, complete with fancy napkins and a picnic blanket, and knocking on the door of his house only to be welcomed with befuddled expressions. He shook his head. He hated to admit it, even just to himself, but that girl was something else.

Through the years, he'd never paid much attention to Madge Undersee. She used to sit with Katniss at lunch in school, so he figured the two girls were friends of a sort, but even then he didn't spare much thought for the blonde. She was easy to overlook. She was pretty enough, in a "frail" kind of way, but apart from the fact that she was the daughter of the Mayor and as such the richest girl in the district, there wasn't anything particularly striking about her.

Maybe that's why it was so easy for him to point his hatred of all things Town toward her. He didn't bring up his dislike of her too often because Katniss didn't like it when he did that, and even less to Undersee's face because he never really interacted with her outside their quick, get-in-get-out strawberry transactions. But it irked him that out of all the teenagers in town she would be the one with the most reason to brag, yet she didn't. He didn't understand why, and he didn't like not understanding.

To add insult to injury, whenever he _did_ voice his dislike out loud, there was little to no reaction from her. She always remained cordial and non-confrontational, no matter how snide his comments. It always seemed like she was holding back; like there was so much more she wanted to say, but was far too polite, or maybe even afraid, to do so.

It made her come across as weak. Gale didn't like weak people; not when they had no justifiable reason to be that way, having food to sustain them, a good roof over their heads, and clothes to keep them warm. People who had everything weren't allowed be weak.

Part of him wanted to see what it would be like to make her lose her composure. That wasn't why he antagonized her— not on purpose, anyway; for the most part, any scornful comments he threw her way weren't really meant for her, but for snobby townspeople, oppressive district officials and the government itself. It was only too simple for him to mentally designate her an avatar for all of the above. But he always wondered what it would be like for her to finally say what she usually held back.

He saw it the last time they spoke.

He wasn't gunning for it, but somehow frustration and fear and urgency piled high enough for both of them and that, coupled with his cutting dismissal of her offer to help, was enough to make her snap. She didn't yell at him, she didn't berate him; she just told him directly how she felt. But there was something in her tone, in her expression, that commanded his attention for the first time since he knew her.

It wasn't a fire, like he saw in Katniss often enough; instead it was a kind of steely determination. She wouldn't be overlooked. She didn't downplay her fears, her doubts; she knew her limitations (which he agreed with), and even so, whatever was in her power to do, she would, because she wanted to help. She was taking a stand.

In that moment, he began to see her in a different light. Maybe she wasn't so weak after all, and he found that he respected her for that. It's why he accepted her offer of helping his family while he was away; he wouldn't leave the well-being of his mother and siblings on the hands of just anyone, but he knew what it was to feel powerless, and her resolve struck a chord with him.

If she could keep that up, he didn't doubt his mother would accept her help, too. She knew the girl was friends with Katniss, and if Gale approved of her, that should be enough. He just hoped the kids didn't give her grief for being the "bearer of bad news." He asked her to transmit to them his excuse for leaving, and he hoped they wouldn't take it against her, instead.

Posy had to be mad at him for leaving so abruptly, he knew. He should probably expect the silent treatment from her. That had been the worst possible punishment between friends back when he was in grade school, and he figured that still held, so he'd have to be ready for a few days of that when he went back home. The prospect sucked, as he already got enough of that from Rory. At least Vick wasn't likely to get angry at him; he was more like their mother that way, trusting that Gale had a good reason for leaving, though he was probably curious about what it was.

Thinking of his siblings made him feel a pang of longing in his chest, so he decided to focus on the food instead of thinking too much of home. He pulled the duck out of the fire and roasted the katniss tubers, helping himself to a small but satisfying meal. The rest he sliced thinly, using his game bag as an impromptu smoker, so it would keep for a few days. Hoping more would catch in his snares overnight so he wouldn't have to waste too much walking time hunting, he went into the cabin to sleep.

Thankfully it was summer so he didn't need to start up the fireplace; in fact he rather welcomed the cool breeze coming in through the empty windows. The cabin wasn't exactly comfortable (you could barely call it a cabin, really), but at least he wouldn't have to worry about wild animals coming way too close as he slept. He'd heard howling in the distance a while ago, so it didn't hurt to keep cover.

He lay down on the concrete floor, which was nowhere near as cool as the breeze, and tried to get as comfortable as possible. Which wasn't saying much. He couldn't believe it, but he actually missed his creaky old mattress.

The next morning, it was the heat more than the sun which woke him up. He had some leftover roasted katniss tubers as a quick breakfast and went to check on his traps: there was nothing in the snare lines but he did manage to catch two medium-sized fish. He'd eat those later or the next day, because they'd spoil before the smoked meat did.

After putting everything in his game bag, he picked up after himself as quickly as possible— he was fully aware from that point on his pace would be slower, as he was venturing farther into the forest than he ever had in the past, and he had to watch his step. Efficiency was the name of the game.

That idea proved correct sooner than he expected. At around noon, he began seeing signs of a specific animal trail through the forest, heading in the direction he intended to go. Whatever it was, it was big, and individual; probably a bear. He had to go around the area instead of going straight as he had planned, which meant he would've been walking in the dark if he hadn't started the hike so early.

A little while before sundown, he started looking for places to settle down for the night. He hadn't yet decided whether he should find high ground and sleep up in a tree, or if he could risk sleeping on the ground. Taking into account the trail he had found, the latter probably wasn't a good idea, but he wasn't finding many trees sturdy enough to take his weight; a while back he'd begun to notice that trees in that area were different than back home.

He found a place where he could make a fire to cook the fish (maybe he could accompany it with some berries, there were a few bushes around), and he was just beginning to set up when he heard it. It was a sound he was familiar with, and immediately had him ducking for cover: it was a hovercraft flying low, just above the treetops.

He looked up from his spot among the bushes and could just see the edges of the craft in-between tree branches, though judging from the noise it was clear it was flying just above his head. He barely caught sight of the Capitol Seal that was marked on the hull before the aircraft moved out of his line of sight.

He wondered if he had made a terrible mistake in coming out into the forest. He thought he wouldn't have to deal with this. He'd spent enough time in the woods through the years to know hovercrafts didn't usually do fly-bys unless they were specifically looking for someone, like that one time he and Katniss had spotted one intercepting a pair that looked like Capitol runaways. He hadn't anticipated encountering hovercrafts in this trip; he thought Thread had cancelled his order for a permanent sweep.

Or maybe that information had been wrong. Maybe the sweep was still on. But then why hadn't he seen any others before? He'd been out in the forest for almost two whole days, but this was the first time he saw (or even heard) a hovercraft in the area. They couldn't still be looking for Katniss and Mellark.

For one panicked second the idea crossed his mind that they may be looking for _him_ instead. But so soon? Those Capitol runaways he'd encountered a few years back had run all the way to District Twelve before they were found out. It would've taken _weeks_ for them to walk that distance, perhaps even _months_ as he couldn't expect Capitol people to have any sort of experience when it came to surviving in the forest. So how could they have found out Gale had left before even two days had passed?

Someone had to have told. Was it his family? Were they alright? Or maybe they'd forced an answer out of Undersee? But that made no sense either, because if they thought he'd gone to look for Katniss, like he'd told her to say, they would be looking on the opposite side of the district.

The opposite side...

As he came out of his hiding place, he looked up at the sun. Not only was that the only hovercraft he'd encountered in two days, but it had been flying west. Not south, as it would've been if it was heading back to Twelve, but west. What was west of Twelve? He could barely remember his geography classes at school— though he clearly remembered ditching them often— but he thought it was the wide plains of Eleven, part of Nine and Eight, and then the Capitol. Maybe that was its destination.

More importantly, it had flown by heading west from somewhere northeast of his current position. Northeast was the direction _he_ was heading in. Where Thirteen used to be.

He frowned. Something really strange was going on. This basically confirmed his theory that there was something more than ruins out there. But that was a Capitol hovercraft he just saw. If whatever was currently in Thirteen's former location was under Capitol control, was there even any point in him trying to get there? Most likely he'd get himself captured and killed.

Maybe he shouldn't have done this. Was he so upset by the knowledge that he couldn't help Katniss, so yearning to prove (to whom?) that he could do _something_ , that he'd let some hearsay cloud his better judgment? Had Mellark's little stunt on television shaken his confidence so much that it made him reckless? The biggest irony was that even Undersee had handled things better than him, he thought with much disgruntlement, because in his eagerness to be a part of the rebellion, he'd completely ignored his own limitations.

He sighed. The sun was going down. Go back or keep going— whatever it came down to, he couldn't move until morning, anyway. In the meantime, he needed to forage for berries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I can't not have at least ONE nerdy note per chapter: Smoking and drying has long been a process used to extend the shelf-life of meats for longer than they would naturally last. However, it's more than just exposing the meat to smoke for a few minutes; smoking meats fully is a long, drawn-out process, and even then, smoked/cured meat should be kept in refrigeration in order to really last for longer periods of time. In this case, Gale gives the meat a partial smoking because it's the only choice he has in the middle of the forest, but even then it's still a risk. I wouldn't recommend for anyone to try that kind of impromptu smoking in a real-life situation.
> 
> And now, something of an anecdote: There's this book, written by a local author, that's about the day-to-day misadventures of this country guy (think of him as the Panamanian version of a redneck, sort of). I had to read that book for school many, many years ago. There's a chapter in it that's all about the guy winding up lost in the forest, and I swear to God that chapter was the longest chapter of anything anyone has ever written, ever. It was _excruciating_ to read. Or at least it felt that way to me. That book is widely regarded (by me at least) as the most horrible form of torture for eight-graders since the advent of Hemingway's _The Old Man And The Sea_. Trauma doesn't even begin to cover it.
> 
> Anyway, the morale of this story is: Yes, I know this chapter is short, but there's only so much "forest adventure" I can write before wanting to cover my ears and curl up into a ball a-la Annie Cresta. It's a miracle I even made it through the first book of _The Hunger Games_ as it is (that's actually not a criticism, but a credit to Suzanne Collins' writing. I mean, the plot is fantastic, but the pages and pages and pages of Katniss dragging herself through the forest looking for water and food would be enough to make me fling a lesser book against a wall). And yes, it's not a very eventful chapter either, but I needed Gale to be out of the district because of reasons.
> 
> But I'll give you guys this: if I get lots of reviews for this chapter, I _may_ be convinced to post chapter 24 before I finish writing 30. Hint hint. ;) I mean, it's not like I _really_ need to be six whole chapters ahead, right? (watch me live to regret this offer). So go on, let me know how you liked this and if you'd like me to post the next one soon! :)


	24. Peeta: Exposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 24: Exposition_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
Peeta had been moved around so much, he was starting to get dizzy. Or maybe that had something to do with the constant sedation. He was no doctor, but he was pretty sure repeatedly having chemicals injected into his bloodstream could not be good for his health in the long run.  
  
Haymitch, who had been there for his extraction from the Training Center, said it was for security purposes, and while Peeta didn't like it, he had to admit it made sense. Now that the rebels had made the government aware of their existence and their intent, they'd be on high alert, and one tiny mistake could get any one of them captured. Even a relative unknown as Peeta could be easily recognized; after his propo aired the night of the scores reveal, the Capitol must have made sure every Peacekeeper in the country knew his face.  
  
And if he were to get captured, he could tell the Capitol crucial information about the rebellion, including secret locations. Haymitch was insistent that denying knowledge or refusing to divulge it would do no good; they had plenty of ways to force or even torture information out of people. So the only way of not revealing too much was not knowing too much.  
  
It was hard for him, all this caution and secrecy. He was never very good at recognizing when others were deceiving him— something his brothers always took advantage of when they were children— but now he found himself being wary of everybody and everything, and it was weird.  
  
At the same time, he'd always considered himself an open person; he never really felt he had anything to hide from anyone. He had only kept one real secret, and he only kept it to himself because he was afraid of rejection. But even that was out in the open now. When they filmed the propo Haymitch was coaching him on what to say, and it felt a lot like they needed him to manipulate their audience. Which he guessed they were, but it just didn't feel right to Peeta. He could be pretty good at saying what people wanted to hear (years and years of trying to avoid his mother's wrath), but at the same time he didn't like feeling like he was deceiving anyone. So in the end he just told the truth, and for some reason Haymitch and Cressida thought that worked even better.  
  
It wasn't exactly the way he had intended to reveal his most important secret. Not by a long shot. But if it could in any way help Katniss, he wouldn't regret it. He could deal with it, and the secrecy and the injections, as long as it made her chances better.  
  
So he got moved to many different safe houses, practically a different location each day. According to Haymitch, he'd be on the move until Katniss's mission was done. "When will we know how it went?" Peeta asked him, just as he was getting into the car. He knew better than to ask _how_ they would know.  
  
"Not right away," Haymitch replied gruffly, "but eventually."  
  
The safe houses he was taken to were small and underground, most of them just one room with bunk beds and a small folding table attached to the wall where he would eat bland canned or dry food. There wasn't much to do but think. He didn't even have a piece of paper to distract himself by drawing something.  
  
They had given him a bag with basic clothes and a wristwatch, which Peeta used to dutifully keep track of the days that passed since he was first moved out of the Training Center. That's how he knew the very day the Games were slated to start was the day he got moved to a much larger safe house. He was moved during the night, actually. Prim would have already spent about six hours in the arena as he got out of the car. He hoped she had survived the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. He wished there was a way he could know if she had.  
  
This safe house was a lot more comfortable. It was aboveground for once, and not only could it house up to eight people in two rooms, but it also had a common room which doubled as a conference room, a small kitchen with an actual table where he could eat, and, he found out later, there was a training room in the basement.  
  
He chose one of the rooms to drop off his stuff, but just as he was taking out some cans from the bag he was handed a while back, his foot made contact with something hard under the bed. He looked and found a dark case, large and rectangular in shape, similar to ones he'd seen holding certain musical instruments.  
  
Curious, he pulled it out and onto the bed. He hadn't found anything in any of the previous safe houses he'd been in, so he found it strange that someone had left that case behind. It was heavy. There was a set of keys hanging from a small chain around the handle, and it took him a while to get the right combination, but eventually he managed to open the locks. Nestled inside several layers of protective lining was a wooden bow and a quiver filled with hand-made arrows.  
  
It was Katniss's bow; the one that had belonged to her father. He had spent enough hours sitting beside it in a cramped Capitol Coal box that he could recognize it straight away. The last time he'd seen that bow had been on the train, when Katniss used it to kill three Peacekeepers before they could apprehend them. Cressida's crew had taken the bow with them once they reached the Capitol. How did it get to this safe house?  
  
He carefully closed and locked the case, leaving it on top of the bedspread instead of letting it collect dust under the bed. How the bow had gotten there wasn't really important; all that mattered was that it belonged to Katniss. He knew how much it meant to her. He'd just have to make sure to keep it safe, so he could give it back to her when they saw each other again. Because he _would_ see her again.  
  
He had just begun to eat dinner when he heard the front door open. He immediately grew alert, though if someone had found him there was really not much he could do— he had no weapons at hand (not that he knew how to use one), and was sure he heard several sets of steps, so he was dealing with more than one person. He tried to make his way to the main entrance as quietly as he could (he only hoped his steps weren't too _loud_ this time), and when he looked to the foyer from behind a corner, he was shocked to find his visitors were none other than Haymitch, Chaff, and Finnick Odair.  
  
They'd been extracted from the Watchtower just as he had been from the Training Center. All three Victors insisted their absence would not affect their tributes at all; their kids were well taken care of, and looked after while they were in the Arena. They hadn't just abandoned them. Still, there were more pressing matters as the rebellion entered the second stage of their plan.  
  
Apparently this "second stage" involved Peeta joining the three of them on an actual mission. Soon. Haymitch would be briefing him in the morning (there was some information they were still waiting on, it seemed), and then he'd be spending every waking minute down at the basement, training with Chaff and Finnick. Whatever it was they were doing, it would require physical intervention. He was okay with that; the only thing he wanted to know was what was happening with Katniss. Haymitch told him they had no information about that yet.  
  
When he showed them to their room, Haymitch caught sight of the case Peeta had left there. "Katniss's bow and arrows are inside," Peeta explained, noticing the way he stared at it. "I found it under the bed. Do you have any idea how it could've gotten here?"  
  
Haymitch let out a grunt and dropped his bag right beside the case. "She was here," he grumbled. "Preparing for her mission. Her squad probably left just this mornin'." Peeta's heart started beating faster. Katniss had been here? If he had come to the safe house any earlier, would he have been able to see her, talk to her? Of course, he couldn't have arrived any earlier— the rebels had each move carefully planned out, and he was unconscious for most of the ride anyway— but somehow knowing that Katniss had been _here_ , maybe even stood where he was standing, made him feel closer to her.  
  
"Now, either you take that case with you to cuddle with it," Haymitch added, snapping him out of his thoughts, "or you put it back under the bed. Either way, I'm taking the lower bunk, and I don't fancy bumping my knees against that thing all night." Peeta instead left the case at the foot of the bed, where it wouldn't be in the way.  
  
Over dinner they filled him in on everything that had happened with Prim over the past few days. He was proud to hear she had done very well in the pre-Games events. Haymitch said she had a good few parties who were interested in sponsoring her, and he spoke a little of the strategy they'd decided to use with her. Peeta hoped it would work; she needed to hold in there until they could get her out.  
  
They explained a little about the arena, though Peeta couldn't really imagine it; he had the feeling all the images his mind could conjure up of giant trees rising out of a pit of acid water wouldn't do reality justice. They mentioned the toll of the Cornucopia fight but didn't go into much detail, and Peeta could understand why: they didn't want to recount how the children they were in charge of lost their lives. Haymitch and Finnick each lost one. Chaff lost both his tributes. Anyone would have a hard time talking about it.  
  
There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask about the rebels' plans, but he knew he mostly wouldn't get answers to those, so he decided to wait until morning. After dinner, Haymitch and Chaff went off by themselves somewhere; probably outside. Finnick joked that Haymitch was going to spend his time sulking because the meager rations they were given did not include any alcohol. Peeta figured they were somehow getting in contact with the rest of the rebellion. They probably needed to go outside to get a signal, since the safe house was built like a fortress.  
  
He and Finnick made small talk in the common room as a way to pass the time. Peeta wasn't sure what to think about the guy; he seemed nice enough for the most part, but given that he insisted on calling him "Lover Boy" and every other sentence that came out of his mouth was laden with innuendo, he didn't know quite how to label the bronze-haired man.  
  
At least he and Chaff were a lot more forthcoming with information than Haymitch was; they didn't know everything (Chaff had already admitted to that when they first met), but they didn't seem to mind telling him at least what they _did_ know. Except, ironically, at night, when none of them seemed to be able to sleep, but for some reason were reluctant to talk.  
  
They each had their little tricks to distract them, Peeta had noticed quickly. Finnick carried with him a small length of rope which he would tie into different knots over and over again. Chaff liked to whistle; different tunes, but there was one he repeated often, which Peeta thought must be his favorite. When he asked, Chaff told him it was an old song the plantation workers used to sing in his district. Haymitch had pulled a knife out of his pack and he spent some time sharpening it before he went to bed.  
  
Peeta wondered if that was what the Hunger Games did to a person: make sleep the enemy, and force them to come up with tricks to keep themselves from it. Considering every time he closed his eyes he was met with images of Katniss dying or being tortured, and that every time there was silence he could almost hear the disgusting crack of his hammer as it hit that Peacekeeper's head, he thought he might be headed in that very direction, even without the Games.  
  
"So, why did you three have to leave the Watchtower?" he asked them, when the silence got to be too much. "You were the only ones who talked to me and Katniss when we were at the Training Center. Do you think they saw you coming down to meet us at the Avox quarters, is that it?" He knew there was a large network of surveillance in the building; they may not have any bugs in the Avox quarters, but they surely did in the hallways. "They must've thought that was suspicious."  
  
"It's not unusual for former Victors to go down to the Avox quarters," came Chaff's voice from the bed below Finnick's. Peeta had known Chaff and Haymitch weren't asleep. It seemed Chaff wasn't in the mood to whistle anymore, but he knew from years of watching Haymitch make a fool of himself at the Reaping, that he snored loudly when he slept. The fact that he was quiet was a dead giveaway that he was still awake.  
  
The reply confused him. "What for?" As far as he knew, each floor had a team assigned to them 24/7. Why would the mentors ever need to go downstairs? They always had at least two Avoxes on call if they ever needed anything.  
  
Finnick seemed to find his confusion amusing. "Just think about it a little harder," he told him, one eyebrow raised as his mouth formed a half smile.  
  
His tone was heavy with suggestion, and it gave Peeta pause. Surely he couldn't be implying...? And then Chaff more than made it clear. "Avoxes are less than second-rate citizens for the Capitol. Doesn't matter what happens to them, and if they can keep their Victors... entertained, well, one less thing Snow has to bother with."  
  
Peeta felt that churn of disgust in his gut, which, sadly, he had grown entirely too familiar with since coming to the Capitol. Just when he started to think their atrocities couldn't get any worse, he learned something even more appalling about them. How could these people be so evil? It wasn't enough to accuse these people of crimes they probably didn't even commit, it wasn't enough to brand them as traitors and even _mutilate_ them as punishment, but they also used them as sexual playthings just because they could? It was revolting. Completely revolting.  
  
Finnick looked up from his rope again, noticing Peeta's mood had gone down the drain. "It doesn't happen much these days. Not like it did when, say, your parents were young. I haven't heard of it happening since I've been a Victor, at least," he clarified, probably just for Peeta's peace of mind. "But it was common enough that they wouldn't bat an eye at it now."  
  
Peeta nodded. The fact that he hadn't spent the past two weeks making food for a bunch of rapists was hardly a relief at this point, but at least it was one less strike on his conscience. There was silence for a few minutes as he tried to swallow the bile that had risen to his throat, but then he remembered what he meant to ask originally. "So it doesn't matter if they saw you come down to the Avox quarters... but what about now?" he questioned. "I mean, you're supposed to be watching over your tributes. Won't they notice you're all gone?"  
  
"We have these people, the same ones who put our propos on air. They can do this... computer thingamajig with the video feeds of the Watchtower," Chaff let him know, in a mumble. He clearly didn't understand much about the technological aspect of it, but then again Peeta wouldn't either. The most technologically advanced machine he had ever handled was the industrial mixer at the bakery, and even that was an ancient model by now. He didn't need the details.  
  
"By the time they realize something's wrong, it'll be too late already," Chaff continued his explanation. "They'll know we're gone, but they won't be able to find us."  
  
"Can they find the people who altered the video feeds, though?" Peeta asked, immediately worried. The Capitol wouldn't take lightly that someone had hacked into their system and used it against them. But they needed these guys for the propos. And more personally, he would feel awful if the Capitol cut their tongues out or killed them for something they did in order to cover for _him_.  
  
A bark of rough laughter came from somewhere below him— more like a hack, really. Haymitch had decided to speak, after all. "The boy's not as dumb as he looks," came the usual mordant comment, disguising a somewhat surprised tone. Peeta rolled his eyes but otherwise said nothing. Coming from Haymitch, he would take "not dumb" as a compliment.  
  
Chaff chuckled, but answered his question. "Not sure how it works, but they said they were... redirecting the signal..." Once again he seemed unsure of the terminology. "Or whatever it's called," he continued, "through District Three communications. If the Capitol tracks it back, they hit a dead end in Three."  
  
"Wouldn't that put the people from Three in danger?" Peeta asked again.  
  
"They're already in danger," Haymitch intervened again, this time without a trace of humor, cynical or not, in his voice. "The government's already taken measures against Three. They've started fighting back." Peeta was surprised to hear this. He knew, in theory, what the rebels intended with the propos they were airing, but he hadn't really expected it to work; not so soon, at least.  
  
Haymitch kept silent for a moment before continuing. "If the Capitol thinks they're behind this and pushes them even harder for it, it might be the tipping point from skirmish to full-on rebellion." He sounded more like he was talking to himself instead of to the others, like he was making plans, strategies, out loud instead of in his head.  
  
That was another aspect of this rebellion he didn't like, Peeta concluded: this unscrupulous way of setting things in motion. He didn't think it was correct to knowingly put innocent people in danger just to stir up the rebellion they needed. The Capitol did not do things halfway: they would use force, everything they had, to quell the insurgence, and people would die. If the rebels used that for their own benefit, how were they any better than the Capitol?  
  
He didn't like it, but unfortunately he couldn't stop it, either.  
  
Next morning found Peeta, Haymitch and Finnick down in the training room, poring over a map of the arena. The two younger men listened attentively as Haymitch spoke. "We got moved here because this is the closest safe house they have to the arena," he said, fiddling with a ballpoint pen they'd found lying on the table. "Our mission is to get the surviving tributes out of there," he explained as he pinned a series of colored flags, each with a number ranging from 1 to 12, in different spots on the map.  
  
Peeta's gaze snapped from the map to the older man so fast, he wondered if he could get whiplash from the motion. "Does that mean Seneca Crane's dead?" he asked, expectant. If he remembered correctly, Finnick had told Katniss they could only rescue the tributes once the Head Gamemaker was out of the picture. "Katniss did it?"  
  
Haymitch paused in his task for a second, looked up at Peeta, and then continued pinning flags onto the map. "The squad accomplished their goal," he finally said, narrowing his eyes down at the paper as he examined it from corner to corner, like he was focusing hard on finding a specific location.  
  
Relief flooded Peeta's body at the confirmation, like nothing he'd ever felt before. She'd done it. She did what they wanted her to do, and now it was up to him to get Prim to safety. That was the whole reason they came to the Capitol, and once that was done, it would be over. They'd be safe. She'd be safe. "When will I see her again?" he asked, eager. Hopeful.  
  
Haymitch rolled his eyes and shook his head as he pinned the last flag. "One track mind," he muttered under his breath, though Peeta heard it clearly. "Let's focus on this mission first, alright?" he said, some derision in the question. "Now," he pointed down at the map, "these are the positions of the tributes as of last night." Peeta was glad to see the flag marked with a 12, which could only be Prim, was safely away from all the other tributes.  
  
Haymitch circled the perimeter of the map with one finger. "The arena is surrounded on all sides by an invisible force field, as you already know," he said, looking at Finnick, who nodded. Then Haymitch turned to speak directly to Peeta. "Can't touch that unless you want to bounce back dead. No one goes in, no one goes out." He extended his hand over the whole map. "There's no force field underground, but all the tunnels beneath the arena are for the machinery. Too unsafe to use even if we could get to them."  
  
"So how are we going to get in, then?" Peeta asked.  
  
"The force field," Haymitch continued like Peeta hadn't even opened his mouth, "is set by the Gamemakers in the Control Room. It can only be controlled from one computer station. It's not hooked to any network. The field is divided into sections that they can turn off individually when they need their hovercraft to pick up a body. We have a man in the Control Room who has access to that computer."  
  
"One of the Gamemakers is a rebel?" Peeta asked, stupefied. He never could have imagined how far up the rebels' reach went.  
  
"That's why we needed Seneca Crane out of the way," Finnick expanded upon the baker's question when it became clear Haymitch wasn't going to bother. "So our spy could take his place."  
  
"Your inside man is the new _Head Gamemaker_?" Peeta's eyes grew even wider, which he didn't think was possible.  
  
"That's what he just said, boy!" Haymitch barked at him, clearly not in a very patient mood. "Keep up, will ya?" He shook his head. "As I was saying, sections of the force field can be turned off by the Gamemakers. But we can't do that; not unless we want our spy to get caught red-handed and shot."  
  
"We also need people in the districts to _see_ this happening," Finnick added a second factor they had to take into consideration. "If we went in through a hole in the force field, the Gamemakers would notice straight away and the cameras would cut away from it immediately. But they won't cut away from the tributes doing something interesting, so whatever we do to open the force field has to come from inside the arena."  
  
"How do we do that?" Peeta asked.  
  
"The field isn't perfect," Haymitch explained. "There's places where the sections overlap each other. Just a tiny little square, but it's visible to the eye. If you hit that little square with enough energy, you can blow out the whole thing." He crossed his arms. "Our tech guy designed this... program," much like Chaff, he stumbled on the technical words, only Haymitch's stumbles always seemed more for effect than anything else, "that can replicate this error. Like a computer virus, kind of. Our Gamemaker will run that program on the computer that controls the force field, and it will make the little squares happen more often, so the tributes will know there's a force field there, and the other Gamemakers will think it's just a bug in the system."  
  
"But how will the tributes know what to do?" Peeta questioned. He was trying really hard to understand all of this, but so many things needed to happen at the same time.  
  
"Odair here was conditioning his kids to hit the force field," Haymitch said, signaling toward Finnick with his head. "Our guy made sure there was an electric cattle prod among the weapons at the Cornucopia. Finnick's boy will know to use it when the time comes."  
  
"I can only hope Marlin paid attention," the Victor from Four mumbled, with a sigh.  
  
"And how will we know when the time comes?" was Peeta's next logical question.  
  
"Our Gamemaker will do something with the arena to try and get the most tributes together in the same area near the force field," Haymitch disclosed, and that made Peeta feel a little nervous. In the past, the Gamemakers' ways of bringing the tributes together had involved events like immense forest fires, earthquakes and floods. He hoped this person would choose a less dangerous method, considering they were trying to get these kids out of the arena alive. "He'll let us know some time in advance. When he does, we'll move just outside the arena." He picked up the pen and drew a big X where, Peeta assumed, they would be stationed when the time came. "And when the force field comes down, we get them out of there."  
  
"In the mean time, we train," concluded Finnick, putting his hands inside his pants' pockets. "I hear you used to wrestle? This'll be a little different..."  
  
"Yeah, but..." Peeta frowned, getting confused again. "Wait. Why do we need to train? I thought part of why we're doing things this way— with the computer virus and having the tributes take down the force field instead of us— is so the Capitol won't have time to react. Are we expecting a fight?"  
  
Haymitch and Finnick shared a look. "There's always a chance that we might get caught," Haymitch confirmed gravely. "Never a bad thing to be prepared. Although, really," he shook his head in a subdued manner, "it's not just Peacekeepers we really have to worry about." That said, he dropped the pen back on the table and walked out of the room.  
  
Peeta turned to Finnick, eyebrows raised in a silent inquiry. The other man simply patted him on the back and said: "Come on. Let's go get breakfast."  
  
Over the course of the next two days, they trained from sun up to sun down. It was good to finally feel like he was doing _something_ (filming the propo helped, but this actually made him feel like he had a purpose). Sometimes he got distracted, though; there were a couple human-shaped archery targets resting against the wall, and he knew Katniss must have used them when she stayed there. Every once in a while they'd catch his eye and he'd lose his focus, but usually he could pull himself together and get back to the training without catching much grief from the Victors.  
  
He trained in weapons with Finnick; he came to learn he wasn't really suited for a trident (which Finnick thought was great, because Peeta didn't look half as good wielding one as he did), but he was fairly decent with a spear, and while he had the strength to use short-range weapons like rods and swords, he left key openings that could be used against him. They made a list of those; their mission at the arena would hopefully be quick enough that his would-be opponents wouldn't have time to notice and use them against him, but since they had no time to correct them, he had to at least be aware of them.  
  
Peeta was starting to like Finnick. He reminded him of his older brothers, a little. On the one hand, he was annoyingly cocky and seemingly self-absorbed, like Crispen, only Crispen was a lot more malicious about it, while Finnick was mainly teasing. On the other hand there was a sense of life experience to him, which reminded him of Brith in the sense that he gave a lot of unsolicited advice; but where Brith always seemed to be far removed from his words, Peeta felt like there was a kind of wisdom behind Finnick's... at least every once in a while. Maybe the guy wasn't so bad after all.  
  
He practiced hand-to-hand combat with Chaff. This he was better at, because of the wrestling he did in high school; he didn't have as many weak points and when they did find one, it was easier for him to correct it. Still, Chaff, even with almost three decades on him, was stronger and "had years of experience getting into brawls with drunken morons," so the score was mostly even between them. Peeta felt a bit chagrined that a man with one arm could beat him so easily, but he _was_ a Victor after all.  
  
Chaff was always a nice guy to talk to. He was boisterous and rough-edged, kind of like Haymitch, and he liked to tease and joke and push people's buttons for kicks, but he quickly realized Peeta wasn't a great target for teasing since he took it graciously, and decided to leave that to the other two. Between Haymitch and Finnick, Chaff had quickly settled into an "only sane man" position.  
  
Haymitch and Chaff had an easy camaraderie, that was for sure. With Finnick as well, even though he was younger. It belied the fact that what was happening had been planned for a long time. It was surprising how well their strategies adapted to unforeseen circumstances. Like him.  
  
"Can I ask you something?" he began that second afternoon, as he and Chaff took a break from sparring. He had sat down on a table that was against the wall, near the door. Chaff was standing near the center of the room, wiping the back of his neck with a towel. "Why am I here?"  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Finnick from where he was sitting on the opposite side of the room, near the target practice dummies. He was lifting weights.  
  
"Why am I a part of this mission?" he clarified, a slight crinkling in his brow underlining the idea that he was really curious about this. "I mean, I had to be out of the Training Center, but that doesn't mean I had to come on this mission with you. You could have chosen any other person to help you get the tributes out of the arena. Another Victor, or a soldier, or just anyone who's already been trained. Why me?"  
  
Finnick turned to look at Chaff, like saying: "You take this one." The older man threw the sweaty towel over his shoulder. "Figured we'd give your sister-in-law a familiar face," he explained. "Those kids are scared. And they don't know we're coming, or what we want with them. Could get ugly down there. But that sister of yours, she trusts you... more of a chance of gettin' her out safe."  
  
Peeta blanched as it finally dawned on him, what Haymitch had meant before: if they wanted to get the tributes out of the arena, they'd likely have to do it by force. "Plus, you're already as much of a household face in Panem as the rest of us are," Finnick pointed out. "If the cameras just happen to catch our entrance, it'll make more of an impact if they see you there."  
  
Peeta frowned. He was reminded of something Katniss had told him the last time they spoke: _They're using me, I know they are._ And the same thing was happening here, they were using him as well, but at least Finnick and Chaff were decent enough to admit it.  
  
The apprehension must've shown on his face, because Finnick spoke up again, quickly. "But hey, if it's your skills you're worried about, don't! You're doing great, for a baker from District Twelve. You've got your stuff, Peeta." He shrugged, looking amused. "I'm sure Chaff didn't mean to wipe the floor with you. Eight times."  
  
Chaff guffawed. "Hell yeah, I did!" he exclaimed, laughing loudly.  
  
Peeta chuckled a little, trying to make his smile come across as genuine, but couldn't muster up enough amusement for it. Instead he picked up a bottle of water from the floor and took a big gulp. He was just going to take a second one when the door opened. "I need you three upstairs," Haymitch stated as he poked his head in. "Got news."  
  
And the news was: they'd be making their move the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aptly-titled chapter is aptly-titled, because this is basically nothing but exposition. LOLOL, I crack myself up. xD Okay, so this wasn't a very exciting chapter either, but there were some things you needed to know before stuff starts happening. Also, I had to let you all know Peeta's okay (for now, at least). Really, _he's_ not the one you guys should be worried about... -coughcough-
> 
> Some notes about the chapter: In my head, the Training Center is only used for training; so when the Games start and the mentors have to monitor their charges 24/7, they do so from a building called "the Watchtower," which is much smaller and has a lot less Capitol staff in it. It's also where the Gamemaker Control Room is located. The idea of the Capitol using Avoxes as sexual playthings is something I wish wasn't part of my headcanon because it's so disgusting, but sadly, I really do think it happened. Also, the idea of Peeta being able to use a spear is a shout-out to the movie, of course.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this surprise chapter! Chapter 30 is going slow, I've only got like four paragraphs written, but you guys were so awesome with your reviews last time, I had to give you all a little something. And yes, I know you're all glaring at me right now and going: "Seriously? She gives us Peeta's PoV but she _still_ won't tell us what he said in his propo?!" I know, I know. But guess what: NEXT CHAPTER is the big reveal! You won't want to miss that one, folks. With some luck I'll be able to finish chapter 30 soon— I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to write during the flight to Europe. (Next Tuesday! Wish me luck!). In the meantime, please review! :)


	25. Katniss: Her Heart Beating Faster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 25: Her heart beating faster_
> 
> **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
Katniss couldn't even know how many days had passed since they were captured.  
  
She leaned her head against the wall behind her as she thought of where everything had gone wrong. Getting inside the Arena Visitors' Complex was the easy part: an Avox with the catering crew let them in, and they made their way through deserted underground service corridors until they reached the box they were supposed to occupy: an empty press box right below a section of audience seats. The wait was long, but everything went according to plan up until that point.  
  
She got in position. She could hear the noise of hundreds of Capitol people chattering excitedly as they waited for the moment the Games would begin. The sound made the hairs on her arms stand on end. She saw Seneca Crane at the window before Boggs even pointed it out. The Capitol audience was counting down along with the clock.  
  
It was halfway through the countdown that the utter panic set in. _I'm about to kill a man,_ she thought as she pointed her arrow slightly above the Gamemaker's head, to account for the height. _Not an animal, for food. I'm about to kill a man who is not immediately threatening my life. Premeditated murder._ She took a deep breath and let it out, shakily. _I'm about to become a murderer._  
  
 _He might kill my sister. He has killed dozens of children before. He deserves it._  
  
 _That doesn't make it right._  
  
Boggs gave her the signal. Before she could convince herself this was all _wrong, so wrong_ , she let go of the string, and the arrow was flying. She could've sworn she heard the sound of the glass breaking, almost like an out-of-body experience, like she was standing up there in the Control Room instead of several feet below. The arrow found its target, and Crane dropped to the ground.  
  
The crowd above them erupted into shrill screams. Capitol people kept proving her disdain right, she mused in that split second; of course they _would_ be terrified by watching one of their own die right in front of them, even if they were routinely entertained by (and even clamored for) the deaths of children from the districts.  
  
Loud alarms started ringing all over the complex. The place was about to become pandemonium, and they had to get out of there, quick. Boggs directed them, their escape route guided by his communicuff, as they made their way down the corridors. The squad had guns. She had an arrow at the ready just in case. It was of no use: the first two were just looking around a corner when they were spotted by a group of Peacekeepers who were apparently leading a group of staff out to safety. She heard them before the rest of the squad saw them, but didn't have time to stop them as she was not at the front. Before any of them could open fire, Leeg 2 was taken out by a shot to the head.  
  
It was chaos. They had no cover. A bullet hit Jackson in the arm. Mitchell received a blunt hit to the head with a rifle. They managed to bring down several of the guards, but within two minutes, another group of Peacekeepers approached from the other end of the corridor. They were cornered.  
  
As they were disarmed, cuffed and led out, she caught sight of Leeg 2's body, which had been brutally trampled over by the frightened people trying to get out to safety.  
  
It had been a mislabeled exit, Boggs told her later. The positioning system in his comunicuff had the door marked as closed, yet the Peacekeepers had used it as an emergency exit. Someone had to have either gotten the information wrong, or transmitted it wrong to them. Katniss listened to him without comment, but privately thought there was no point in thinking about it, anyway; what could go wrong had already gone wrong, and knowing where the mistake was couldn't bring Leeg 2 back.  
  
They'd been taken somewhere else and shoved into individual holding cells. She took in the small space for the hundredth time. Four concrete walls, barely six by four. The only entrance was a heavy metal door which remained locked at all times except when a guard shoved in a tray with coarse bread and water. The lighting was dim and a sickly yellow, there was no bed, and there were no windows either, not even a hole in the wall anywhere. The only opening apart from the door was a very small vent, high up in the wall, which connected to the cell Boggs was being held in.  
  
She'd barely seen the sun since she'd embarked on this journey to the Capitol, she realized. First the box, then the Training Center, the safe house, and now the cell. She missed it. She didn't feel herself when confined. If things kept going the way they had up to that point, she might just end up developing a phobia of enclosed spaces, after all.  
  
The thought reminded her of Peeta, and thinking of Peeta hurt.  
  
"It won't be much better when we get back to Thirteen, I'm afraid," Boggs had replied when she bitterly mentioned it to him. Of course it wouldn't; Thirteen was fully underground. But it didn't matter anyway. They'd kill them soon. They were taking their time with it for some reason, she didn't know what that was, but they'd get to them soon. They would never make it to Thirteen.  
  
Did she even succeed in killing Seneca Crane? Surely he had to be dead after that injury. She could only hope that was enough for the rebels to be able to get her sister out of the arena. She didn't care what happened to her so long as Prim made it out alright. But she didn't know what was happening with the Games, or if Prim was even still alive.  
  
The only way Katniss had of measuring the passage of time was as morbid as everything else around her: by the deaths. The first day, after all the adrenaline, and the fear, and fighting, she basically passed out in exhaustion. She didn't know how long she slept, but she assumed it was already the next day when she was woken by Jackson's screams.  
  
She couldn't see them, but she heard them struggle and fight as Peacekeepers dragged them through the hallway in front of her cell. They must've tortured them, or killed them in a slow and painful manner, because the screaming usually went on for a while. It was always horrible to hear, and she would curl up in a corner of her cell, trying hard not to imagine what might be happening to them.  
  
It took a long time for Jackson to quiet down; it felt like hours. She spent the whole time bellowing from the pain but to her credit, she never once begged them to stop. Leeg 1 was the hardest to hear; they took her some time after Jackson, which Katniss guessed to be in the afternoon. The entire time she cried for her family, especially for her father who was waiting for her to go back. It hit Katniss so close to home, she pulled off clumps of her own hair in her attempt to shield herself from the sound. Thankfully she went fast.  
  
That morning, it was Mitchell. He kicked, and pushed— she could hear the sound of the struggle and the clanking of his boots against the metal of her door when they dragged him by— and as they began to inflict their torture, he took every chance he got to curse the Peacekeepers and the entirety of the Capitol to hell and back. She hoped the Peacekeepers who were hurting him would never forget every single word he spat at them.  
  
During the silent periods, sometimes Boggs would make a comment here and there. He wouldn't talk about the death of their fellow squad members, which she appreciated and understood; not only had he known them better, because they'd all been soldiers (unlike her, who got thrown into their squad barely a few days previous), but he was their commander. If she felt horrible about their deaths, she couldn't even begin to imagine how _he_ felt.  
  
He talked a lot about Thirteen, though; about how things were back there: the system, the people, the technology. Sometimes he asked her how different things were in Twelve. She rarely answered, because thinking of home hurt, too, but he didn't seem to mind. There was a wistfulness in the way he spoke that reminded her of her father, which was why she listened even though talking did them no good.  
  
Sometimes she heard him speak to someone else, probably Homes, who was likely in the cell adjacent to Boggs. Dimly she wondered which of them would be the next to go. She was just trying to discern what Boggs was saying to the other man when the door to her cell opened and a man came in.  
  
She pushed herself as far back as she could against the wall. The man didn't seem threatening, but she couldn't be sure. He was plump, and middle-aged— probably older than her mother would've been if she were alive. He was obviously Capitol, from the outlandish way he was dressed, but he carried no weapons.  
  
He pulled a chair from the hallway and set it in front of the door as he closed it behind him. Katniss watched him carefully. She wasn't restrained, so maybe she could take him on and try to escape. "Good afternoon, Katniss," he said amenably, like they were old friends. She had nothing to say to that— her afternoon had not been "good" by any stretch of the word. "I would not recommend attempting a breakout. There are two Peacekeepers stationed outside your door; you wouldn't be able to escape even if you could overpower me."  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him. For a moment she wondered how he knew that's exactly what she had been contemplating a minute previous, but then she figured it probably wasn't hard to guess. "And in any case, if you try to hurt me, they will surely notice. All the cells are under surveillance," he said as he sat down on the chair. He pointed somewhere above the frame of the door. She couldn't see anything there, but perhaps the camera was disguised somehow.  
  
There was silence for a moment after that last affirmation. She realized she couldn't hear Boggs speaking anymore, and she wondered if he was listening in to her unexpected conversation, instead. "What do you want?" she asked the man, bluntly.  
  
"My name is Plutarch Heavensbee," he declared in an affable tone. The name didn't ring a bell. "You probably haven't heard of me, I've only come to prominence very recently," he admitted. She glared at him. Of course she hadn't, she was _locked in a jail cell_. "I've quite a busy schedule these days, you see," he started again, fiddling with his ridiculously expensive-looking cufflinks, like she cared one way or another what his schedule looked like. "But I thought I should do the polite thing and take a minute to visit you and thank you."  
  
She frowned at him, not understanding what he meant. She didn't know what someone like him would possibly have to thank her for. He seemed to notice her confusion. "I have recently been promoted to the position of Head Gamemaker for the Hunger Games," he clarified.  
  
Katniss felt her heart start beating really fast, like she was back at the Visitor's Complex, still halfway through her mission. Somehow it hadn't occurred to her that Seneca Crane might be replaced after his death— at least not this soon. She realized then how stupid she had been to think that way. But surely the rebels had to know something like this would happen? How the hell were they going to get her sister out of the arena if there already was a new Head Gamemaker in place?  
  
Moreover, there was something creepy about this guy. He had to know she had killed the previous Head Gamemaker— maybe he had even been there to see her arrow catch Crane straight in the chest— yet he was _thanking_ her. "And you're not afraid I might kill you too?"  
  
He smiled at her. Yes, very creepy. "The way I see it, Katniss, you did me a favor," he quipped as he crossed his legs, apparently very comfortable in his current position. "See, the competition is usually very tough for a position such as mine. But after what happened to my predecessor, well... let's just say there weren't many takers for the job."  
  
He didn't seem the least bit concerned that getting promoted meant he had just put a big target on himself. "And since you did me a favor, I guess I can do something for you as well," he said, leisurely. She only glared at him; she didn't want anything he could give her.  
  
He wasn't intimidated, though. "Don't worry, it's nothing that might get you in further trouble," he assured her. "But I thought you might like to know that your sister is still alive and well." Katniss tensed immediately at the mention of Prim. "In fact, I dare say she's thriving in the arena."  
  
If her heart had been beating faster before, it was now threatening to burst out of her chest. Could it be true, or was he just messing with her? Prim was still alive? Maybe there was still a chance, maybe Haymitch or Finnick or someone could still do _something_ to get her out of there even though there was a new Head Gamemaker already in place...  
  
Before she could open her mouth to say anything else, the man pulled a gold watch on a chain out of a pocket in his vest. He opened it and, frowning down at it a little, ran his thumb over its face as if to clean it. "Well, it's getting late. I'm afraid I don't have much time to chat with you today. I'm sure you understand." He smiled at her again and turned the watch in her direction so she could look at it.  
  
She caught a glimpse of the time— it was nearing five in the afternoon. But there was something else she noticed in that very quick movement: when the yellowish light reflected on the surface of the watch, an image appeared on it, almost like it was glowing on the surface of the glass. It was a mockingjay. In fact, it was the exact same figure of a mockingjay as in the pin she had asked Finnick to give back to Prim over a week previous.  
  
He closed the watch a second later. "I should get back to the Control Room now," Plutarch said as he stood up from the chair. He gave her that creepy smile again. "It was very nice talking to you, Katniss." With that, he opened the door again, and requesting for the Peacekeepers to help him get the chair out, he left. Just like that.  
  
She let herself relax from her previously tense position when the sound of footsteps down the corridor could no longer be heard. "Why do you think he did that?" she asked Boggs, still baffled by the random visit and overwhelmed by the information she'd gotten from it. She hoped he'd been listening.  
  
"Maybe it was some kind of intimidation tactic," came the commander's response a few seconds later.  
  
True, that made sense. She could see how Snow's government benefitted from pretending the death of Seneca Crane did not shake them as the rebels hoped it would. They needed to put on a guise of stability against further attacks. "He had a hidden design of a mockingjay. In his pocket watch," she added, though she knew Boggs would likely not understand the significance of it because she'd never mentioned Prim's pin to him.  
  
He was quiet for almost a whole minute. Perhaps he was giving it some thought. "Probably just some new Capitol fashion trend," he said eventually. "You know how those people are."  
  
She had no comment to that. Frankly she thought it too much of a coincidence, but at the same time, it had all happened so quickly, she was beginning to think she had imagined the almost ghostly image. The lighting in the room was really poor and she was tired; maybe her eyes had played a trick on her. She pushed it to the back of her mind for the moment.  
  
Shortly after, she heard the now-familiar sounds of someone being roughly pulled out of a cell. It was Homes. There was screaming and resistance at first but it subsided very suddenly; all she could hear as they passed in front of her door was the telltale sound of something heavy being dragged. They probably had to knock him unconscious. She figured after Mitchell, they weren't very keen on listening to these soldiers' dying words.  
  
The next morning, she was woken up not by screaming, but by her door opening. She sprung backward on instinct, her heart in her throat. They were coming for her. She was going to die.  
  
She thought her fears were confirmed when a Peacekeeper made his way into the cell, but then she saw he was pulling things inside: first, the same chair Plutarch Heavensbee had brought in the day before, and then a small folding table which he opened and set up against one of the walls. A second Peacekeeper set a portable computer down on it, then left. The first Peacekeeper moved to stand beside the door, closing it after a third person walked into the room. She didn't need to wonder who it was; every single person in Panem would be able to recognize the man who stood in front of her.  
  
President Snow's snakelike eyes took in her demeanor. "Don't worry, miss Everdeen. It's not your turn yet," he assured her. He sat down on the chair, the Peacekeeper keeping guard behind him. A strong scent filled her nostrils, and more than ever she wished her cell could have a window; the smell was making her nauseous. The aroma of roses, likely from the flower pinned to his lapel, but stronger than any rose she had ever smelled. And just under that, the distinct metallic tang of blood. She didn't know where that could be coming from. "I am only here to ask you some questions."  
  
She did not ease off her posture. He noticed. "I think it's fair to say everybody in the districts now knows there is a seditious faction trying to get their attention," he started, his tone business-like. "What I would like to know is how you and your... _husband_..." The emphasis on the word let her know he was well aware the whole thing was a ruse. She also didn't miss the fact that he had addressed her as "miss Everdeen" instead of "Mrs. Mellark." He finished the thought promptly: "...How you two first got in contact with the rebels in Thirteen."  
  
Her heart started pounding heavily in her chest. It didn't matter how he knew, not really; a simple order to look up their marriage license back in Twelve's records would be enough to confirm that it was all pretend. But she didn't know how he found out about Peeta. Had the others said anything when they were being tortured?  
  
She couldn't let them target Peeta; they would capture him and kill him, just like they did all the others, and she couldn't let that happen. As much as it felt like her voice had disappeared, she had to divert Snow's attention from him somehow. "Peeta has nothing to do with this," she stated, finally finding words, and she feared she sounded anxious, but she couldn't keep it down. "It was all me. I got involved with the rebels. He didn't do anything wrong."  
  
He stared at her for a second, his puffy lips pursed. It only made him look more grotesque. It was so out of place for him to be down there, she thought, with a backdrop of grey walls and not much else, when every other time she'd seen him, he had been surrounded by splendor and grandeur. The very representation of the power of the Capitol.  
  
"I'm afraid it's a little too late for that, miss Everdeen," he sentenced and lifting his hand, he signaled to the Peacekeeper behind him. The uniformed man moved closer to the table and pressed a button on the computer, which promptly came to life. Straight away a video started playing.  
  
For the first few seconds there was only a grey background, which confused her a little, but then none other than Peeta sat down in front in front of the camera. Her breath caught in her throat. What did it mean? Had they captured him? Apart from the obvious dark circles under his eyes, he didn't look hurt or mistreated. What was this?  
  
He leaned his weight forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, and gave the camera a small nod. That was a signal, because a moment later a female voice spoke up from out of frame. "So, Peeta," she began, and Katniss recognized the voice as Cressida's. That was good. It meant the video was manufactured by the rebels, and that meant Peeta was still safe. "Why did you come to the Capitol?"  
  
At the question, he looked down at his hands and for a heartbeat she felt like her entire being was hanging onto his answer. What were the rebels planning with this mock interview? Was he going to tell the truth, that they'd come to the Capitol to save Prim from the Games? Why?  
  
He didn't leave her hanging for long, as he then took a deep breath and, his blue eyes moving to look straight at the camera, let it out in what was almost a sigh. "I'm here because... the person I love the most in the world has someone she loves most in the world," he started, speaking slowly. "And that person is in danger."  
  
The word were so carefully crafted, she almost didn't understand. But then she realized he was talking about her. Who else could he "love the most in the world" if not his "wife"? It had to be some kind of strategy, some plan by the rebels, because Peeta wouldn't be saying any of it on his own. He wasn't really in love with her. They were friends. That was all.  
  
"You mean your wife, right? Katniss?" Cressida asked from off-camera, just to clarify. "The person you say is in danger is her sister Primrose, who got reaped for the Hunger Games." Peeta nodded. "Wow. You must really love her a lot, to risk your life like that to help her sister."  
  
Peeta shrugged. "I do. I... She needed help. I couldn't not be there for her." He shook his head ever-so-slightly. "I would do anything for her. For both of them, really."  
  
Katniss felt something clench in her chest. He'd told her before that he had decided to come with her because he felt stopping the Games was worth the risk, but she still felt like it was her fault he wound up smack in the middle of this mess. Coming to the Capitol was her idea; he wouldn't be here if not for her. Somehow hearing it from his lips, even if it was a rebel scheme, made it all the more real.  
  
There was a pause then, like Cressida was letting his words sink in. Then she piped up again: "How did you two fall in love?"  
  
Katniss was almost annoyed by the line of questioning, but as Peeta's expression changed, she realized Cressida was trying to get him to spin a story, like he had the night on the train when they'd gotten caught. Getting him to use words to convince their hypothetical audience just like he had convinced Cressida and her crew that night. Convince them of what, she wasn't sure, and she right then couldn't see how sounding like a sappy Capitol soap opera could benefit the rebellion at all, but there had to be a point to all of this.  
  
He let out a chuckle. She found that even with the President of Panem sitting right in front of her, likely to kill her soon, her attention was transfixed on the screen, on Peeta. She knew he was just playing the audience, but she was blown away by how genuine he seemed, how much he could transmit with just the smallest gesture. Clearly the rebels had the right idea, putting him in front of the camera. He had a way with words.  
  
"Well, I can't speak for her," he started, a sweet smile settling on his lips. She was glad to see it. He hadn't smiled yet, and for some reason it made her feel like something was off. Smiling was almost the natural state of being for Peeta Mellark, and she appreciated that now. "But for me that would be... the first day of school."  
  
"The first day of school _ever_?" came Cressida's question.  
  
He laughed at her obvious disbelief. "Yeah," he admitted with just the right balance of charm and embarrassment. "Kinda pathetic, isn't it?" She felt a rush of warmth pass through her, but at the same time it hurt, because she hadn't heard him laugh since... probably since before the Reaping. She hadn't known back then that hearing him laugh would become so comforting for her. If she had known, she would've treasured it more.  
  
"The first time I saw her, we were waiting to line up before class started," he began, his expression turning wistful. "My father pointed her out to me, actually, because he knew her mother. They dated when they were younger, but it didn't go anywhere, because she fell in love with Katniss's father." She couldn't help but frown. She had no idea how he came up with this stuff, but it was a very elaborate story.  
  
"So there I was, five years old, at an age when my father was my greatest hero." His gaze was far away, like he was back at that moment instead of just remembering, and she knew he was thinking of his father, missing him. She knew because she felt the same way whenever something reminded her of _her_ dad. "So of course I couldn't understand why any woman would choose to marry a coal miner over him." He shook his head. "But when I asked, he told me it was because... when he sang, even the birds stopped to listen."  
  
She could've sworn her heart stopped for an instant. That was true, what he said about the birds. She could remember many days in the forest with her father when he'd be singing her some happy lullaby, and everything around him would go quiet. It was part of the reason why she was so reluctant to sing after he died, she realized; because it made her miss her father even more.  
  
"And did Katniss inherit this trait?" Cressida asked.  
  
"She did," he answered, smiling again. "But I didn't find that out until later. For the rest of the day I just stared at her, intrigued by this pretty little girl, whose father apparently had a magical voice." He licked his lips, almost like he was nervous. "I remember she was wearing a red plaid dress. And you know how she wears her hair in a braid? Well, back then she wore it in two braids. I remember thinking she was cute," he laughed. "High praise, considering I still believed girls had cooties."  
  
Cressida laughed as well, but otherwise let him continue. "Later on, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the Valley Song. Her hand shot right up in the air." He still sounded amused as he recalled this part. "I remember how brave I thought she was. I would've never put myself out there like that in front of a bunch of kids I didn't know. But she didn't care. She was going to do something she loved, and she was going to do it proudly."  
  
His eyes closed for a moment as he spoke his next words, almost reverent. "And when she opened her mouth to sing, I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent." He breathed in, deeply, his eyes boring into hers through the screen. "That's when I understood why Mrs. Everdeen married Katniss's father instead of my dad. It was then that I knew... I knew that I would love her for the rest of my life."  
  
Her heart was beating so hard, she could almost hear it pulse against her ribcage. She felt so unexpectedly moved by everything he said, and at the same time so confused, because she knew it was a fabrication. But even then, there was a ring of truth to it. The detail about her father's singing, Mr. Mellark could have told him that at any point, but that dress he mentioned? She remembered it; not only did she use to own a red plaid dress, but eventually she passed it down to Prim, for her to use until it was worn down to rags. And she vaguely remembered singing in front of her kindergarten class, though she couldn't remember the song.  
  
She knew when Peeta was making up a story, he liked to insert little bits of truth, to aid the veracity of it. But these details were so insignificant, and it all happened such a long time ago, she barely remembered it herself. How could he remember all of that? Could he... could he really be in love with her? No, he wasn't. He couldn't be.  
  
But it would explain so many things, like why he always thought the best of her. Like why he risked his life to come with her to the Capitol... Why he took a beating from his mother to give her the bread that saved her and her family. Could he truly have been in love with her for over fifteen years?  
  
Suddenly, it was like her entire world had turned upside down. She was so stunned, she almost missed Cressida's next question. "Does she still sing?"  
  
"Not that I know of," Peeta replied, his smile fading slowly. Of course he wouldn't know; the only times she'd ever sung since her father died was to Prim, when she was younger and would have nightmares. Cressida wondered why she'd never sung to him. "I've never asked her to," was his answer. "Actually, I've never even told her any of this."  
  
"What made you decide to say it now?" Cressida continued questioning.  
  
He was serious again, almost grave. "Because I needed to remind myself of why I'm fighting," he stated, with his usual conviction. "Everybody needs to remember why _we're_ fighting. It's not about money, or food, or about commodities. It's about not living in fear. The Capitol threatens to take the people we love and hurt them, maybe even kill them, like they mean nothing."  
  
His fists clenched visibly, accentuating the emotion in his words. "But I won't let them hurt Katniss, or Prim, or any of the people I love, and neither should you." He was no longer talking to Cressida, but addressing the audience directly. "But we can only take them on if we work together. All of us, all the districts. We can fight."  
  
That was their angle, she realized. That's what the rebellion wanted with Peeta; to use his words of love and devotion to remind people of all those they loved, and use that love to fuel their desire for a revolution. It was a strategy after all, but did that make Peeta's story, and all the conflicting feelings it inspired in her, any less true?  
  
"We must fight," Cressida agreed readily. She thanked him for agreeing to being interviewed, and he echoed her, grateful for the opportunity.  
  
That's where the video ended, but even as it faded to black, Katniss was feeling so many things at once, it was almost like being snapped out of a trance. She was slightly disoriented as she looked around at the grey walls of her cell, even though she had seen nothing _but_ those grey walls for almost three days.  
  
Then her eyes fell on President Snow, who still sat in front of her, watching her coldly. "As inspirational as that was, I hope you understand why I am not overcome with emotion," he said. His words sounded benign, much like Plutarch's had, but his expression did not match his tone. "This clip aired in the districts a few days ago, so you see why your attempt at defending Mr. Mellark is quite futile."  
  
He crossed his legs, getting comfortable, and she had the jarring thought that, even though he was the President of Panem, and she was a prisoner, _she_ was the one who would always be out of place. "Your... colleagues," he continued, obviously referring to the rebels, "found a way to override our live feed yesterday. They aired this clip in the Capitol. Our experts were not expecting their propaganda to target the Capitol this early, so we couldn't stop it in time."  
  
She recognized, despite the pleasant tone, that there was a certain sincerity to his words, and she was taken aback by his directness. The government of Panem did not usually recognize when they made an error, particularly not to criminals. _He must want something from me, very badly._ Maybe that knowledge was the reason she had the guts to say her next words: "Perhaps instead of wasting your time visiting me, you should be putting more effort into hiring better experts."  
  
His bloated lips stretched out into a sneer. "I assure you that the issue of our experts has been... taken care of." Once again she sensed there was more to what he said than the words alone, and she had no doubt those "experts" who had made the mistake of not stopping the rebel transmissions on time were now dead. "But you are right, my time is valuable. So let me make my point: I need you to do something for me, miss Everdeen."  
  
She said nothing, only stared back at him, tense as if he were a real snake about to lunge at her any second. She didn't need to ask what he wanted; he would tell her. And he did. "I want you to appear on a live interview that we will air nationwide."  
  
"And say what?" she asked. Obviously he didn't mean to put her in front of a camera because of her charming personality.  
  
"The truth, of course," he replied straight away. He wasn't put off by her reticence. "That you didn't intend your altercation with that Peacekeeper as a seditious act, that you didn't mean to join a rebellion and that you're only being used for their treacherous plans."  
  
Her jaw tensed. That _was_ the truth. But that wasn't all he meant for her to say. "Should I also suggest that the people of the districts not get involved if they don't want the same to happen to them?" she asked, knowing very well that was implied.  
  
"You understand where I'm coming from," he confirmed, with a single nod of his head. He uncrossed his legs and made as if to stand up. "My advisors were concerned you would be difficult, but I am sure you're reasonable enough to know that would not be in your best interests."  
  
The threat was clear: he could forfeit her life at any point, just as he had his "experts," just as he had her squad. But he just said he needed her to bring down the mood in the districts, so why should she take his threat seriously? She was about to bring this up when he continued: "Of course, remember I know exactly where your dear sister is right now."  
  
She felt her heart rate speed up again; it was one thing for him to threaten her, and another thing altogether for him to threaten Prim. She couldn't let him touch her, not when she had survived three days in the arena so far. "You can't kill her. It would be too obvious, and it would only make things worse," she replied. She knew she shouldn't be antagonizing the man who could have her killed with the flick of a finger, but she couldn't hold it back. She didn't even want to fathom the possibility of Prim dying, so she was hoping to correctly call his bluff.  
  
"In the environment of the Games, it would not be out of place for her to... submit to her circumstances." He would not be caught off-guard. He finally stood up from his chair, looking in her direction with his dark, reptilian eyes. "Do not test my patience. You forget I can have planes ready to go and drop bombs on Twelve at my command."  
  
First Prim, and now the entirety of Twelve. Was there a limit to how far this man would go to keep the power he had held for so long? "You won't do that," she shook her head emphatically. There was no way; it had to be an empty threat. "You can't risk another Thirteen."  
  
"Do not presume you know what you're talking about, miss Everdeen. There is nothing in Twelve that could possibly be a threat to me," he denounced. His tone, once again, was merely conversational, but he was looking down at her with open scorn. "You are under the impression that District Thirteen 'survived' the Dark Days. They did not," he sentenced. "They came to an agreement with the Capitol for a ceasefire, as long as they left the other districts to their own devices." His white eyebrows rose on his forehead. "They're not doing this to help you, or they would've done so decades ago. They want power. That's all there is to it."  
  
He signaled to the Peacekeeper to hold the door open for him, and was already turning to leave when Katniss spoke up again. "I don't believe you," she said, and tried really hard to mean it. Even if what he was saying was true, even if this rebellion was nothing more than a power struggle, it was still worth going through with it, because things couldn't be worse than they already were.  
  
His steps paused, and he turned to look at her over his shoulder. "That's a pity," he uttered, almost managing to sound like he was truly disappointed at her refusal. "Because I'm not lying to you, and I believe things would be much simpler if you had the same courtesy with me."  
  
That said, he walked out of the cell and as he crossed the threshold, he signaled to two other Peacekeepers who were keeping guard outside. They nodded and rushed down the corridor to the right of her cell. It was only when she heard the struggle begin that she remembered Boggs' cell was directly to the right of hers.  
  
The grunts and yelling moved closer as they dragged him just as they had the others. President Snow remained standing in front of her doorway, impassive, not even flinching as the Peacekeepers pulled the bloodied soldier right in front of him. Boggs' eyes caught hers through the open door. "Everdeen! Don't do what he says! No matter what he threatens, there’s still people watching out for—!" Soon he was out of sight, and his words gave way to screams of pain amidst the blunt sound of a human being beaten down.  
  
The Peacekeeper closed the door behind him, leaving her locked in, just as she had been for the past three days. She tried to yell over and over again that she'd do what Snow wanted her to do, call their attention away from Boggs, but it was useless. No matter how hard she banged against the door with her fists, Snow was long gone, and the pained bellows continued. She slid down against the cool metal, raising her arms to her head, attempting to cover her ears. Trying to block the noise somehow.  
  
Other than that, she didn't know what to think. She didn't know what to do.  
  
 _My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am twenty-one years old. My home is District 12. My sister, Prim, was reaped for the Hunger Games. I came to the Capitol with Peeta, to save her. I got involved with the rebellion. I was taken prisoner. I may never see Peeta again. I may never see Prim again. I will probably be dead soon..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter from Berlin! Sorry it took so long, but sleeping in the same room with my mother for a month wasn't exactly conducive to my writing. I've started classes now and my schedule is ridiculous, but I'll still try my hardest to update as fast as I can.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all liked this chapter as much as I loved writing it— it's a definite turning point. Lots of parallels to the original in this one, and there's lots more BIG events coming up soon! In the meantime, please review, and don't forget to follow me on twitter and/or tumblr if you're on either of those sites. (The links are in my profile).


	26. Prim: The Chink In The Armor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 26: The chink in the armor_
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
Prim's fourth day in the arena was going much as her second day did: uneventfully. That's why she probably should've known something was going to happen soon. But as it was, she didn't, and she'd been innocently walking around, looking for a syrup tree, when the entire arena started to shake.  
  
Her first instinct was to duck down and try to hold herself steady by grabbing onto any cranny she could reach. She wasn't sure what one was supposed to do during an earthquake— the ground didn't shake too often in District Twelve, and when it did it was nothing more than residual tremors from a cave-in or an explosion in the mines— but there was no time for her to strap herself up to anything. The moment she realized it wasn't just the tree she was standing on that was shaking, she crouched down close to the trunk and held on for dear life.  
  
It took a while for the shaking to subside, and an even longer while for her to be able to stand steadily on her feet. But even so, she thought it was strangely short for a Gamemaker device; usually if they wanted to introduce an earthquake, they'd go all out with it. Some years back they had orchestrated a quake so massive, it broke a dam and the entire arena was flooded. She had been too young back then to remember it clearly, but she had heard Katniss and Gale talking about it— apparently all the tributes drowned except the girl from Four, who was the best swimmer.  
  
She wondered what they had intended with the shake this time. Did they just mean to catch the tributes off their guard and cause a few of them to tumble off the tree branches and to their deaths in the caustic liquid down below? Could be, but she couldn't be sure. She'd have to wait until the anthem played and she could see how many of them remained.  
  
She continued searching for sustenance, though by then she wasn't really sure if she should even bother. In her head she knew the arena had to end somewhere, but she'd been walking for four days straight and she had yet to see even the slightest change in terrain. She was beginning to think it _did_ go on forever.  
  
She _had_ found trees with different substances than those found closer to the Cornucopia, particularly one she had found a few hours earlier which supplied a sticky, whitish substance that, from the smell, she could only guess was some kind of glue. She didn't need glue at the moment, and she couldn't think what anybody could need it for, but she mentally made note of the tree anyway. It wasn't until later that the thought crossed her mind that she could use it as an emergency treatment. If the adhesive congealed into a solid clot, it could temporarily stop a wound from bleeding.  
  
The thought gave her pause. She hated how the arena was altering the way she felt about medicine. Back home she would've been excited about learning something new, and exploring all the different ways she could use it to save people and make their lives better; now the first thing that crossed her mind was "how can this keep me on my feet long enough that I won't get killed," and the burden of knowing that any adverse effects could make her wind up dead in the long run, anyway.  
  
She sighed as she moved from one branch to another. Haymitch's idea had been good, the strategy of portraying her knowledge of medicine not only as a tool for her defense, but also as a threat to the other tributes. It made her seem more dangerous than she actually was. But she didn't want to become that grim, negative person; it wasn't her. But maybe it was too late— maybe she was already changed.  
  
She couldn't have been walking for more than twenty minutes when it happened again. She knew because dusk had settled as she walked. She noticed the night was a little less dark than the previous ones had been, and she wondered if the moon was shining bright above the treetops. She was just contemplating this when everything started shaking again.  
  
It was worse than the first time it happened; the tremors were more intense, the tree she was standing on felt less stable, and there was an infernal noise booming out through the arena, like metal grinding on metal— it reminded her of a chain getting stuck in an engine, or the screeching of the train against the rails when the brakes were hit abruptly.  
  
The noise was so pervasive, it was making her teeth hurt. She desperately wanted to cover her ears, but she couldn't because she was holding onto the tree so hard. Every few seconds the sound boomed up, like someone had thrown those pieces of metal that were grinding together hard against the ground. It was rhythmical, almost like heavy footsteps, but really, really loud. She was afraid it could be some sort of giant muttation the Gamemakers had released into the arena, and terrified that it might be coming her way.  
  
She wasn't risking any movement, no matter how slight, in the middle of an earthquake, and the way she was holding onto the huge tree trunk meant she could only get a good look in the direction she came from. Since the first day she had walked miles upon miles away from the central clearing, and she knew she was really far from it because when she looked back, she couldn't see it: it was so far away from her by now that it was beyond the horizon. All she could usually see when she looked back was trees obscuring her view.  
  
But now that had changed, and it surprised her. If she turned to look between the tree trunks, she could just barely catch a peek of the edge of the forest line. That's where the extra light was coming from, she concluded. She didn't know if the liquid level below her had risen, but there seemed to be less trees in that direction, for some reason.  
  
The noise boomed again and she realized exactly what that reason was as the tree she was just looking at, right at the edge of the clearing, got _swallowed down into the liquid at the bottom._  
  
Her breath caught, and her grasp on the tree trunk faltered. The cattle prod almost fell but she managed to hold it between her body and the tree. The shaking and the horrible screeching made sense now: they were caused by some sort of machinery below the arena that the Gamemakers had activated, and the booming every few seconds meant a tree had gotten pulled straight down. She could see them disappearing into the water-like substance, dragged down so forcefully that the liquid splashed when the branches and leaves hit the surface.  
  
She realized with a start that even without the trees in the way, she could see nothing beyond the tree line but the liquid. She couldn't see the Cornucopia or the little island it sat on, but she didn't know if it was simply out of her range of view, or if it really wasn't there anymore. Could the Cornucopia really be gone? And what happened to the tributes who were surely using it as their camp? An image of the girl from Four being melted alive invaded her mind and she almost lost her hold on the tree trunk again.  
  
The shaking and the sound had been going for several minutes, and they weren't showing signs of stopping anytime soon. All she could do was try to stave off the nausea and watch helplessly as trees disappeared one by one, several hundred yards away.  
  
It was then that she realized the Gamemakers weren't doing this just to kill tributes for fun; they were _cornering_ them. They were probably trying to get all the tributes together in the same place, provoking violence that was sure to entertain their Capitol audience. They wanted her to go with it, and she _had_ to go with it, because the receding tree line was getting closer and if she didn't move, she'd be pulled down along with the tree she was holding onto.  
  
She had to run.  
  
She took a deep breath and then pushed herself to her feet and away from the tree trunk, hoping the horizontal momentum would keep her moving forward instead of succumbing to the tremors. It didn't work. It was hard to keep her balance and she kept tripping over herself every two steps. Luckily the branches were wide enough that even when she fell, she still had plenty of surface to regain her footing on. It was especially hard to jump from branch to branch, so she was moving slower than she would've wanted to.  
  
Even her instincts were conflicted. On one hand, she found herself involuntarily slowing down, trying to find stability, every few meters. On the other, her brain was screaming at her to _move_ — if the living Careers hadn't been swallowed up by the rising level of liquid at the Cornucopia, then they were surely running just as she was, maybe even coming her way. Her fight or flight impulse was useless if both options were equally deadly.  
  
It felt like an eternity had passed until the shaking finally stopped. It happened abruptly, though, and as she fell to her knees, she felt like she was tumbling off the branch. Panic seized her for a moment but as the sweeping sensation in her stomach subsided, she realized she was still up in the tree, holding onto the branch on all fours. Coriolis effect. She still felt disoriented as she looked around, motion sickness clouding her vision and making her feel like the arena was still shaking when at the same time her sense of touch told her it wasn't.  
  
How long had the shaking gone on for? Fifteen, twenty minutes? It felt much longer than that. She sat on her haunches as best as she could, gingerly because her knees and lower legs were all cut up from constantly falling. She was just beginning to get her bearings back, when she saw something small and roundish whizz straight past her, hitting a nearby tree.  
  
Startled, she looked behind her and sure enough, some three hundred-odd yards away from her, a figure was running in her direction. Immediately she recognized him as the boy tribute from Four. Clearly he had seen her, as he was running straight at her. A couple more rocks flew right past her as she got to her feet and took off on a sprint all over again. She knew it was no use— she might be lighter than him but he was a trained Career tribute, and she was already tired from all the running she'd done before— but she wasn't going to make things easy for him.  
  
He was yelling something at her, but she couldn't really piece it together as her ears were still buzzing from before. It did help her gauge his distance, however. Several more stones came her way as she ran. One of them grazed her right shoulder; it would bleed for sure, but it was a minor scrape at worst. The rest just whizzed past her. Guess all that training wasn't enough to make him adept with a slingshot, huh?  
  
She tried to zigzag, jump down to lower branches to try and get him off her trail, but she couldn't lose him. Maybe if she tried going _up_ instead, she thought hurriedly, but he was gaining up on her fast and she knew she couldn't climb fast enough that he wouldn't catch up to her.  
  
"GIVE ME THE PROD!" He was finally close enough that she could decipher his screaming over the beating of her heart in her ears. Which meant he was too close. She briefly entertained the thought of throwing the cattle prod at him, just letting him have it, but she knew he wouldn't simply let her go if she did, and she wasn't about to hand him the weapon he would use to kill her.  
  
She could just drop the prod down into the caustic water; that way he wouldn't get it and use it against her, but that wasn't practical. He could still kill her without it, and in her case it was her only defense. No, he was going to catch her either way, so her best bet was to let him and then use the prod on him. She had to fight him. It was her only choice.  
  
She stood her ground and turned to face him, her finger lingering over the weapon's trigger. Electricity came to life as she pulled it, and she waited, blood pounding in her ears as he ran closer and closer. When he was upon her, he stretched his arms, reaching out to grab the prod from her, and that's when she swung, trying to get him just below the ribs, hit a vital organ.  
  
He dodged her easily and lunged at her again. She just barely managed to duck without falling over the edge, and in her imbalance she grabbed onto the closest body— his— to stabilize herself. She desperately caught a grip of his jersey, but he was faster than her pulling her by the neck of her own shirt and while she was under his arm, he struck down with his elbow, sending her tumbling down onto the flat surface of the branch.  
  
The jerky movement caused the slingshot to swing off the holder in his belt, sending it flying past her to bounce against... _nothing_.  
  
There was nothing there for the rock to hit, just the air occupying the empty space between two trees, yet there was a small zapping sound and the pebble ricocheted back in the direction it had come from. It spooked her so bad she stumbled over her own feet again, and she almost ran face-first into the trunk of the tree.  
  
"There it is!" she heard the boy from Four exclaim, and she would've been more curious about what this "it" could be— some sort of invisible mesh? Force field? But why would there be a force field there? Was that it, the border of the arena? And if it was, why was the boy from Four looking for it?— had he not turned to grab her the moment he finished speaking.  
  
Next thing she knew, she was being pulled roughly from behind by the first body part he could reach: her elbows. In that position her arm strength was compromised so she had a difficult time holding onto the cattle prod, which he took advantage of as he grabbed at it with his hand. She just barely managed to hold onto it. She couldn't hold it for much longer, but the longer she kept her grip, the more off-guard he'd be when she finally let go, maybe giving her the opening she needed to get away. "Let go! Twelve, I need that damn prod, don't make me hurt—!"  
  
His threat got interrupted when the arena started shaking again, complete with all the mechanical racket that accompanied it before. It caught them both off balance, but he recovered faster than she did, stilling his feet quickly. He didn't waste a second to take advantage of her unsteadiness, and kicked her behind the knees, causing her halfway-to-standing position to collapse. She hit the tree trunk so hard, it knocked the air out of her lungs. He had no trouble wrestling the cattle prod away from her hands.  
  
Gasping for breath, she curled up into a ball, covering her face against the trunk as she grabbed at it with her hands to keep herself on the branch. She was putting herself in a vulnerable position (it only took one hit to her head, the back of her neck, her spinal cord, her ribs, her kidneys— she could think of so many options, all painful and all lethal...), but if he was going to kill her anyway, she'd rather not watch. She could only hope it happened fast.  
  
However, the blow she was expecting never came. She risked a peek behind her and saw that Four wasn't even standing there anymore; he had jumped down to a lower branch and seemed to be carefully making his way toward the invisible wall, still carrying the cattle prod.  
  
Why hadn't he killed her? Why was that force field (or whatever it was) so important to him that he would take that over the chance for an easy kill? Either way, she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She stood and started going back in the direction she had come from; she didn't know where she could go, as the tree line was still receding, but the more distance she could put between her and the Career tribute, the better. With everything shaking, running without falling would be as difficult for the others as it was for her.  
  
She'd barely switched trees twice when she caught sight of the male Tribute from Two coming toward her. He kept falling down as he ran, much like she had before, particularly because he kept bumping his knee against the sword he had clipped to his belt. He was really pale and seemed terrified, and immediately she saw why: the trees were getting pulled down almost at his heels.  
  
She started backpedaling before she even had a conscious thought of doing so. Which was the lesser of the two evils: the trees, or being caught by a Career Tribute who was just as susceptible to the lack of a solid surface to stand on as she was? The situation was different than the one she'd just gone through with the boy from Four; Two hadn't spotted her yet. On the other hand, the trees kept on being pulled down, she didn't know when or _if_ it would stop. They couldn't just take all the trees out from under them, could they?  
  
No, they couldn't do that. They had to have their Victor.  
  
Making a split-second decision, she jumped down to a branch below her. It wasn't too big a jump, and she managed to land on her feet, but then her balance was shot by the shaking, and she fell. In the nick of time she was able to hold onto the branch with all her appendages save for one leg. She was sure people in the Capitol had to be laughing at her right then, considering her very undignified current position— flailing like an actual duck, with one leg hanging off the branch— but she considered it a small victory; jumping from tree to tree was hard enough when the trees in question weren't rattling like tin cans.  
  
Channeling Atala's voice in her head, the advice the older woman gave her when she had struggled with the climbing webs back in training, she slowly pulled herself back up onto the branch. It was a struggle, but she made it. And then she jumped again, to another branch even further down, repeating the same process. She wanted to make sure she was out of sight when Two ran by above her.  
  
When she got to a level she thought was safe, she started going back out. She didn't run; she walked carefully, because she was not sure where exactly the invisible wall was, and she didn't think running smack into it would be a particularly fun experience. Between her close calls with Four and Two, she wasn't even worrying about the trees anymore. Not much she could do to save herself from those anyway.  
  
As she moved a few trees ahead, she noticed that if she looked between the trees at a certain angle, she could see the boy from District Four again. They were at the same level, but he was too busy with whatever it was he was doing with the cattle prod to notice her in the background. She decided to watch him for a while; if the force field was that important to him, maybe it could be useful for her. She didn't think he was too eager to kill her, given that he'd already let her get away once, but even then she tried her best to keep mostly hidden behind a tree trunk. No need to tempt fate.  
  
He had recovered his slingshot and re-attached to his belt, she noticed. The simple weapon was a far cry from the sword the boy from Two carried with him, but apart from it, he also carried a bag full of small rocks. Those were the ammunition he'd been shooting at her, or at least in her direction; she was pretty sure he'd been aiming toward the force field, instead.  
  
And that was precisely what he was doing at the moment: throwing a few stones one by one ahead of him, and watching them bounce against the force field. He was measuring his relative position to it, she guessed; if she extended the circumference as revealed by the rocks to where she was standing, she would guess she was about ten feet away from the wall.  
  
She saw him close the bag of rocks, secure it in his belt again, and look up, directly in front of him. It was like he was actually seeing the invisible wall, or looking for something on it. _What is he doing?_ she wondered, for the thousandth time. Was he planning on using the wall as a weapon of some kind? But then what did he need the cattle prod for?  
  
That was right about the moment the shaking stopped again. She looked around and saw that the tree line stopped about twenty feet away from her position. She couldn't see anything but caustic solution beyond that. Her heartbeat immediately rose: she knew she couldn't just stand there watching for much longer. It was likely that all the remaining tributes were somewhere in this small patch of salvation, caught between the deadly water and the force field. They'd be on the prowl, and she had no way to defend herself if she was found.  
  
She moved closer to the spot where Four was standing. As long as he was more concerned with the force field than he was with killing other tributes, he was the least threatening option. Maybe if she approached him carefully, he might be amenable to forming an alliance. At the moment he seemed to be testing the cattle prod, like she had when she first found it.  
  
He hadn't noticed her yet, even when she was standing two trees away from him. But someone else did notice _him_.  
  
The loop of rope wound itself around his neck and Prim just barely swallowed the scream that threatened to escape her mouth. It was the girl from Ten, it had to be, though she couldn't see her— the long stretch of rope disappeared between the trees, keeping the person wielding it out of her line of sight.  
  
Her first instinct was to run, hide... but where? The area the Gamemakers left for them was far too small and everywhere she went she was likely to come across another tribute; if Ten didn't kill her, someone else would. Meanwhile Four struggled against the hold, trying to pull the rope from his neck. As the cattle prod clattered to the flat surface of the branch he was standing on, Prim realized she could help him; he didn't have a knife but maybe she could reach out and pull the rope off him, or burn it with the prod.  
  
He fell to his knees, his face beginning to turn purple from lack of air. Prim rushed to him. When he saw her approach his eyes widened even more, and when she reached the branch he was on, he grabbed desperately at her pants with one hand, as if begging her to save him. She nodded at him. "I'll help you," she assured him, and moved to pick up the cattle prod, which was a few feet away.  
  
Just as she was turning back around to touch the electrodes to the rope at the back of his neck, the rope was yanked violently backward, flinging him off the branch. He was _just_ out of reach. His hands instinctively left his neck and extended toward the edge of the branch, trying to keep himself up, but he was far too weak and shaky from lack of oxygen to get a good hold. He fell, the rest of the rope bending over an adjacent branch and leaving him hanging like a rudimentary gallows.  
  
She didn't even want to look down. But when she looked to her right she finally saw the girl from Ten, emerging from the shadows between the trees. Prim saw her pull a knife from her belt and cut the rope about a foot from where she was holding it. Without her grip on it, there was no tension to hold Four's weight and both him and the limp rope went down. There was no splash; they were up far too high for the sound to carry all the way up to their ears. She hoped he was already dead when he hit the caustic water.  
  
She backed up a few branches, but it was clear the larger girl had already seen her, was making her way over. Prim desperately looked around. Running was no use; she had seen the girl sprint during training and knew she wouldn't be able to get away. She had cut her own rope, so she couldn't lasso her, not from a large distance at least. Maybe she could climb? She might run into another tribute up there, but once again: lesser evil.  
  
Her eyes darted anxiously around, looking for the best escape route, and that's when she saw it: a small square, maybe a little larger than an inch in both dimensions, that seemed to be shimmering, or vibrating just a couple feet away from her. At first, she thought she might've imagined it, or that maybe it was a trick of the light, but as she backed up away from the other girl, there it was again.  
  
She knew she shouldn't be looking at little squares of light when the tribute who was possibly the biggest threat in these Games was just a few steps away from her, but unfortunately for her, the fact that she was close enough to notice the little squares meant she was _literally_ backed up against the wall.  
  
Ten was brandishing the hunting knife in her direction. Her only defense was the cattle prod, which she clutched tightly to her chest, her finger twitching nervously against the trigger— she wasn't sure if she meant to use it as a weapon or as a shield. She could run, but she would run out of trees almost straight away. She could climb, but if that girl could lasso a target from enough distance that she could remain unseen while doing so, Prim had no doubt her aim was good enough that she could lodge the knife in her back before she even got halfway to the nearest branch above.  
  
Prim kept her eyes on the girl as she walked backward. Ten trees. Just nine trees away. The other girl's eyes were on her too, just as focused, like a predator stalking its prey. She almost stepped off the branch because she wasn't looking where she was going. As she stabilized herself the butt of the prod— the battery case, the heaviest part— came in contact with something behind her, and there was again a zapping sound. She was too close to the force field.  
  
She looked above her head and she could see dozens, maybe even hundreds of the little iridescent squares, peppering the entirety of the no-longer invisible wall, all the way up to beyond the top of the trees. She didn't know what it meant, or why it was happening. It just reminded her of static, like on a malfunctioning television set.  
  
Was that it? Could the force field be malfunctioning? It seemed almost impossible; she couldn't remember there ever being any kind of weakness in the Hunger Games logistics.  
  
Seven trees. Six.  
  
 _Weakness. A weak point._ Suddenly the thought made her remember something someone had told her recently. She could almost hear Haymitch say the words all over again. _Everyone, every_ thing _has a weak point._ A chink in the armor, he'd called it. She remembered him nodding at her as he said it, as if punctuating the idea. _When it jumps out at you, you hit it with everything you've got._  
  
Five. Now just four trees away.  
  
She wondered if this, the little squares, were what the boy from Four had been looking for. She didn't think that's what Haymitch meant when he said look for a weak point, but if this wasn't something "jumping out at her," then she didn't know what jumping out was.  
  
She thought she understood now, what Four had been intending to do. Ten was almost on her, the serrated knife at the ready. She was stronger, and much like it happened with Four, it wouldn't take much to knock the weapon out of her hands. Prim was going to get stabbed before she could even point the prod at her attacker. Her fingers tightened around the trigger. She had run out of options. There was only one action to take if she wanted to save herself.  
  
She pulled the trigger. Immediately a tendril of energy arced between the two electrodes. Ten, now close enough to take a slash at her, quickly took notice of the live weapon, but as she raised the knife over her head, Prim spun on her heels and slammed the electrified end of the prod as hard as she could against the force field, right at the nearest visible square.  
  
The last thing she knew before her entire world exploded was a sharp, stinging pain on her right shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Primmy blew out the force field! Who would've thought she had it in her? xD I tried to put some fight in her, though of course in the end I had to be realistic (come on, she wouldn't be able to beat a Career tribute in close-range combat). But I hope at least it felt like she wasn't about to go easy. Also I tried to pack as much action into this chapter as I could, but in the end it's still a lot of running up and down through the arena. I hope it wasn't too draggy.
> 
> The Coriolis effect, which Prim mentions in this chapter— or more accurately the Coriolis _perception_ — happens, in very broad strokes, when you're moving in a frame of reference that is moving in a different direction than you are, usually in a circular motion. For example, the perception that flying objects are moving in a curved path even though they're not— it's you who are rotating with the Earth. This effect can make you feel like you're still moving even after you've stopped, because of inertia, and can produce momentary or even severe motion sickness depending on the person's sensitivity. It happens often to pilots, and it's been known to happen in cases without circular motion, such as when someone moving straight at a slow speed is affected by harsh jostling (like Prim).
> 
> And oh, I should warn you: things are starting to happen really fast right now, so the next few chapters are most likely all going to end on this type of cliffhangers. Sorree. :P Feel free to tell me how evil I am in a review. -hinthint- Next time we're going back to Twelve, check out how Madge and the Hawthornes are faring. Should be interesting. ;)
> 
> As usual, remember you can follow me on twitter or tumblr (links are in my profile) for hints, snippets of future chapters, and general fangirling over THG and other fandoms. See y'all next time! :)


	27. Madge: Shockwave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 27: Shockwave_
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
Madge left the office a little later than usual. Since she found out that her house might be under surveillance, she was trying to spend as much time away from there as possible. This often meant she was late to have dinner with her mother, which made her feel a little guilty; but when she explained that she had a lot of work to do— which wasn't a lie— her mother insisted she didn't mind.  
  
She hadn't been able to have dinner with her mother at all the past few days, in fact. Ever since she began taking food to the Hawthornes, she'd been having dinner with them. Hazelle insisted on it, and she didn't have the heart to refuse; she knew it must be hard for her and the kids to accept help from someone who was practically a stranger.  
  
She walked out of the Justice Building, already making a list in her head of what she could take them that day. She hoped Grethel hadn't forgotten to get those loaves of bread from the bakery. Rory usually brought back bread when he got off work, but she'd come to learn it was usually stale bread. She wanted them to have something fresher for dinner.  
  
Her brisk pace was nothing new, either. Not that she was in a hurry to get home, but she didn't want to witness the horrible spectacle Romulus Thread had set up right in the Town Square. Since he took over Head Peacekeeper, every day they there was someone new in the stocks. That was the worst so far. She could only hope the more deadly contraptions, like the gallows and the whipping post, remained unused in the near future. The sight alone made her stomach revolt, so the sooner she made it to the gates of her house where she didn't have to see it anymore, the better.  
  
She had just reached the last step on the stairs when she heard someone calling for her. "Madge!" She turned around to see Purnia running up to her. She had seen the Peacekeeper just a few hours back, when she went back home for lunch. She had been guarding the side entrance to the building; Madge remembered waving her hi. She wondered what was so important that Purnia would leave her post to come talk to her. "Did you see what's going on over there?" the older woman asked, signaling toward the Town Square.  
  
"I'm trying not to, actually," she admitted, adjusting the folders she was carrying in her arms; a few documents were in danger of falling off. "Is it bad?" She risked a glance in the direction of the Square, noticing the usual group of people surrounding the stocks (probably relatives of the person in question) and a couple of Peacekeepers standing by as guards.  
  
Purnia shook her head almost sadly. "You really want to check out this one," she said, giving her a look that immediately made her grow anxious. Who could it be? Madge didn't have many friends, particularly not many that Purnia would be concerned about. Could it be Gale? Had he gotten caught outside the fence? Oh no...  
  
Purnia went back to her assigned post while Madge's feet started taking her to the center of the Square. She tried to peek in-between people to catch a glimpse of whoever it was that had gotten put in the stocks, but even then she could only see the person from behind. It was a man, with dirt-stained trousers and long legs. She sped up her pace.  
  
When she finally got to see him upfront, she was surprised to find not Gale, but Rory. She pushed her way to the center of the circle, noticing that one of the Peacekeepers she'd seen was actually Head Peacekeeper Thread, who had surely just finished setting up Rory's punishment. "What's going on? What did Rory do?" she asked worriedly, in Thread's general direction.  
  
It was only when she spoke that Rory caught sight of her. "Madge!" He didn't seem injured, she noted, and thankfully the people of Twelve weren't the type to throw food and dirt at the people in the stocks like she heard they did in other districts— in Twelve, they had no goods to spare and nobody was about to waste what little they did have so pointlessly. Still, just being in the stocks was bad enough, as Thread surely meant to have him stand there for a long time, regardless of the blazing sun and likely a chilly night, and all of that without food or water.  
  
He must've been relieved to see a familiar face, she figured. He tried to turn his head to look at Thread; obviously it wasn't easy with the wooden board trapping his neck. "I told you she'd be wondering where I was!" he exclaimed, in a tone he probably shouldn't be using toward the man who was enforcing his punishment.  
  
Before she could ask what he meant, Thread turned to her. "Miss Undersee," he started, with that odd accent of his, the tone of his voice implying that he'd much rather not bother addressing her. The man looked at everyone with disdain, even her father. It was like he simply couldn't hold it in. "This boy missed a mandatory appointment. He was required to be here at five for an interview for the Games, but he never showed up."  
  
"I _told_ him I was running an errand for you, but he wouldn't believe me!" Rory exclaimed on the heels of Thread's pronouncement.  
  
She looked at him, confused. She didn't know anything about any errands (she hadn't seen Rory since the previous night), but his eyes begged her to just go with it. Luckily Thread had his back to the stocks. "That's— that's right," she started, hoping Thread wouldn't notice her moment of hesitation. "My father needed some items, but we were both too busy at the office," she signaled to the stack of folders she carried in her arms, "so I asked Rory to get them for us. That's why he missed his appointment."  
  
"Well, he should've run your errand _after_ he was done with the interview. The Capitol doesn't like to be kept waiting," Thread sentenced, unshaken. Rory shifted his attention from one to the other, like they were playing an interesting sports match. "You'd think that would be his priority, since giving an interview could help his little girlfriend," he added, almost spitting the last word out. Obviously he held no illusion that Prim could ever come out of the Hunger Games.  
  
She saw Rory's jaw clench, and if he was anything like Gale (which, she'd been told repeatedly, he was) she knew he was about to snap at the Head Peacekeeper, which in his situation would do no good. "It was a very urgent matter, I'm sure you understand," she intervened before Rory could open his mouth. "He shouldn't be punished; it's my fault, really."  
  
"Are you offering to take his place in the stocks, Miss Undersee?" he threw out, his beady, dark grey, almost black eyes looking down at her from over his hooked nose. "Because that could be arranged."  
  
She saw Rory's eyes widen, and it was only then that her poor choice of words registered in her mind. She heard the people behind her start muttering among themselves; it wasn't hard to guess what they were saying: _Can he do that? Can he put the Mayor's daughter in the stocks?_ He could. She didn't think he _would_ — if his charges against Rory were already flimsy, any charges against her would be ridiculous— but she wouldn't put anything past this cruel man. Unlike his predecessor, who was content with turning a blind eye on things, Thread seemed to enjoy seeing people suffer, and Madge wouldn't give him the chance to do it to Rory, or her.  
  
"Mr. Thread," she began, attempting to appeal to a diplomatic side she knew this man didn't have, "this is all really quite unnecessary. It's late, and there's nothing that can be done about that interview today. Rory can just do it tomorrow instead." _Because Prim_ will _still be alive tomorrow_ , she thought, but refrained from saying. "And I doubt a night in the stocks is going to leave him fresh and camera-ready."  
  
She moved the folders until she was holding them under one arm, so her other hand was free to push back a lock of hair the wind had blown over her face. "Meanwhile, we still need him to finish that errand I sent him on," she said. She took a deep breath before she continued, readying herself to use her last argument. One she'd rather never use, but one which was always there in the back of her mind, as a last resort. She felt low even as she said the words. "Unless you'd prefer to personally explain to my father why he still hasn't received the items he asked for hours ago."  
  
His eyes narrowed. He knew what she was doing, he obviously did; his stare was still harsh, but she could see a flicker of doubt there. Technically, he didn't report to her father, but directly to the Capitol. He did get paid by the District, though, and for all his loyalty to the government and all his disdain for the inhabitants of Twelve, it still wouldn't be good for him to get on the Mayor's bad side.  
  
He remained quiet, just staring at her in a way that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. For a while there Madge thought he was going to refuse, leaving Rory to his punishment for the entire night. After about a minute, though, he relented. "Fine," he said. He signaled to the other Peacekeeper to unlock the heavy boards from around the boy's neck and wrists. "But if he doesn't show up tomorrow, I'll whip him into shape myself."  
  
Madge couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, before nodding. Her gaze trailed momentarily toward the whipping post that was erected right beside the stocks, and she knew that when he said he would "whip him into shape," it wasn't just a figure of speech. Rory would have to do that interview the next day, for sure.  
  
"Tell that brother of yours the same goes for him," Thread addressed Rory as the other Peacekeeper was freeing him from his entrapment. When he continued speaking she understood he meant Gale. "Would do well to remember the fence is there so people stay _inside_."  
  
Madge froze for a second, fearing Thread had somehow found out that Gale had left Twelve. But there was no way he could know that, she told herself. He had probably just heard through the grapevine about Gale's poaching and, since he couldn't punish anyone without proof, he had to do with a warning. That was all.  
  
If Rory had a similar moment of doubt, it didn't show. "I'll pass on the message once he comes out of the tunnels," he muttered once he was released, cradling his wrists, as they were starting to chafe. He went with the story they had agreed upon; Gale's family knew he had left the District, but it would be safer for them if Thread still thought Gale was trapped in the mines.  
  
"Well, he better make it out in one piece," Thread continued, and of course Madge knew he wasn't just expressing well-wishes out of the goodness of his heart. "It'd be a pity if he isn't able to go back to work when the mines open, just because your usual healer is... unavailable." He all but spat the words at them. Madge couldn't believe such a vindictive man was given the reins of law enforcement in their district.  
  
She just managed to grab onto Rory's arm before he could lunge at the man, and started pulling him toward her house. "Thank you for understanding, Mr. Thread," she murmured tightly as they passed by him, internally thinking exactly the opposite. As they made their way out of the square, the crowd began to dissipate; she knew, because she could hear Thread yelling at people to go find something else to do, unless they wanted to be next in line for the stocks.  
  
By the time they reached the gate of her house, he had finally stopped huffing enough to talk without letting his frustration seep through. "Hey, thanks for helping me back there," he began, sounding genuinely grateful. "I don't know what would've—"  
  
She cut him off with a shake of her head and a signal of her hand. "It's okay. Can you just wait here for a second? I'll go get the food and then we can head straight to your place." She knew she was being short with him, and she could see he noticed, but she couldn't help it. The encounter with Thread left her feeling all out of sorts.  
  
Despite the awkwardness, he nodded, and she went inside. After dropping all the documents she was carrying on her father's desk, she went down to the kitchen. While Grethel was busy accommodating the newest list of demands their Capitol guests had made before leaving the house that morning, Madge put together enough food for five people (plus those loaves of bread— Grethel had bought them after all), and packed it up in a couple of bags, to take to the Hawthornes'.  
  
Before going back out, she went upstairs to say hello to her mother and let her know she'd be having dinner with friends again. She didn't get much more grief than the usual, though her mother seemed convinced that "having dinner with friends" was just an excuse and instead Madge was meeting a secret boyfriend somewhere. Thinking of Rory, who was still waiting outside, she briefly contemplated responding: "yes, mother. He's a sixteen-year-old boy from the Seam who was recently put in the stocks by the Head Peacekeeper— would you like to meet him?" But she decided against bursting her mother's bubble, now that she could at least pretend her daughter had some semblance of a social life.  
  
She wasn't particularly worried about what her father thought of her unexplained absences. He came home late every day (late enough that Madge was back home by then and her mother would already be asleep), and then he left home early in the morning, so he probably wasn't even aware she had been eating supper somewhere else for the past three days.  
  
She went out the door, letting Grethel know (over her shoulder) that she'd be out late and not to save dinner for her, before walking out of the house. Rory was waiting for her by the gate, and rushed to take the packages from her as she came down the path ( _well, at least he has better manners than his brother_ , the thought burst unbidden). "Thanks," she let out as they started walking toward the Seam, taking the backdoor route Gale had shown her the last time he walked her home, in order to avoid the Town Square.  
  
Rory frowned at her— her tone had been abrupt again, even though she didn't mean for it to be. "Look, you didn't _have_ to help me if you didn't want to, okay?" he shot at her, defensive. "If it was such a bother, you could've just left me there. It's not like you have to care," he finished, his tone hard.  
  
She supposed she deserved that, as she hadn't explained to him why she was suddenly so put off. "It's not that, Rory," she started, with a sigh. She crossed her arms around herself as she walked. "It's just... I don't like using my father's position for personal benefit. In fact, I really hate it." She shook her head, disappointed in herself. "I shouldn't get away with things just because I'm the Mayor's daughter; it's not fair. And you sort of... forced my hand there. I mean, I'm glad I could help you, but... right now I just feel like a hypocrite."  
  
Rory's frown softened as she spoke, and by the time she uttered that last sentence, he was looking contrite. "You're not a hypocrite," he assured her sincerely. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I was just desperate and it was the first thing I could think of."  
  
"It's fine, Rory. Just... don't let it happen again, okay?" she asked him, conciliatory, and he nodded. They walked a few minutes in silence, until she spoke again. "Why did you miss that interview, anyway? That was dumb." She wanted to know if there was some kind of problem. The last thing they needed at the moment was Rory getting into more trouble.  
  
She saw him grimace. "I don't know why they want me to give another interview, anyway. The first one was enough of a disaster! They're just gonna keep asking stupid questions and acting like Prim's going to die any minute and I just... it makes me want to run outside and punch something," he sentenced, shaking his head. "It's just pointless."  
  
She had to admit he had a point. The first day of the Games, a crew of reporters had approached Rory and his family as they left the Town Square, and the interview had aired the morning of the second day. If that could even be called an interview, that is. She could imagine how hard it was for him to try and answer questions about his relationship with Prim after watching her almost die a number of times, but he braved through the first few questions. When they asked him what his last words were to her, however, he couldn't handle it and, pushing the cameras away and taking off toward the Seam at a run.  
  
All was not lost, however. "It wasn't a disaster," she reassured him. "Even if you didn't say much, it was obvious how much you love her and miss her." She raised a hand to his shoulder, trying to be comforting. "That's all they need to know. It can really help her, with the sponsors and everything. You just... make sure that comes across, tomorrow."  
  
"Yeah, sure," he mumbled, and she could tell he just said it to humor her. Of course, there were no words in the world that could comfort him at the moment, not when the girl he loved was fighting for her life in the Hunger Games. She pulled her hand back and a second later, he shook his head. "That's not why I missed the interview, anyway," he admitted, almost grudgingly.  
  
"So why did you?" she asked him, now curious.  
  
Rory shrugged as best he could with his arms full of bags. "Well, you know how they took the Mellarks in for questioning after Peeta appeared on TV?" Madge nodded. The morning after that particular event, the bakery didn't open. Madge had stepped by during lunch hour and saw several people standing outside— some of them meant to buy pastries, most of them were only interested in gossiping about this latest scandal. It wasn't only until the next day, the morning of the day of the interviews, that Crispen turned up to open the bakery again. In less than two hours, everybody in Town knew that they had spent the entire previous day detained by Peacekeepers.  
  
"I heard Crispen mention to a friend of his that they had told the Peacekeepers everything they knew," Rory continued with his story. "I wasn't going to listen in, but he was badmouthing Peeta and it just— it bothered me," he admitted. Not that she blamed him. She recalled vaguely that Peeta and his brothers weren't particularly close, but even then, Crispen should trust that Peeta was doing this for a good reason, right? At least, that's what she thought siblings were supposed to do.  
  
"Mrs. Mellark is still in a lot of pain, so he's been handling everything down at the bakery for days. He was angry Peeta had put them in that position, and he hoped the authorities could see that they didn't know anything about what Peeta's been doing, so they would leave them alone." His expression made it more than obvious she disagreed with Crispen's attitude as much as she did. "Everything went smoothly for the next few days, so I thought maybe he was right and the Peacekeepers decided to leave them be."  
  
"They didn't?" she ventured, figuring from his tone there was a "but" coming up.  
  
"Today Crispen asked me to help him with their shipment of ingredients," he continued, not quite answering her question, but she figured he was getting to the point. "The containers are heavy, so it takes two people to get them to the bakery. Only, when we got there... there was no shipment." Madge felt her heart sink; she thought she knew what was coming. "The Capitol canceled their requisition. They won't be getting baking ingredients or supplies anymore."  
  
"Oh, no..." Madge lamented, saddened. Mrs. Mellark might not be the best person out there, but she and her family had given their whole lives to that bakery. What was going to happen to them now? What about Peeta, when he came back home? (Because he _was_ going to come back home). And what about everybody else in the district? The Mellarks' was the only bakery in town. Regular people couldn't just put in an order to import grain and baking ingredients, not like a bakery could.  
  
She should've known this would happen; she knew very well the government wouldn't let something like this slide. Peeta's appearance on television ended with a very clear message of sedition, a rally for the people to rebel. The Capitol had executed people for less. They would quench that message however way they could, and if they couldn't get to Peeta, then those closest to him would pay the price— become an example— starting with his family. That's just the way they did things. Road blocking people's livelihood was nothing but a slow death sentence.  
  
She felt her fears get a hold of her heart again, the usual dread creeping up on her, but she knew she had no right, because she wasn't the most affected by this... not by a long shot. "Is that why you missed your interview? Because you were at the train station with Crispen?" she asked Rory, remembering that he wasn't finished yet.  
  
He shook his head. "No, that was in the morning. I went to do something else after I got out of school, but the line was too long so I ended up missing the interview..." She frowned at him, not having a clue what else he might've been doing that had anything to do with the bakery. He noticed her confusion, and let out a resigned exhalation. "I was signing up for tesserae."  
  
She didn't think she could feel any worse until she heard him say that last sentence. "Oh, Rory..." she let out. It was the only response she had, really. Wasn't it just the night before she'd heard Hazelle comment, after a passing mention about the mines being closed, how grateful she was at least Rory had a job, so he wouldn't need to sign up for tesserae this year? "Did you talk to your family about this?"  
  
"No," he admitted, his mouth twisting in disgust. "But what's the point? I know what they're gonna say. They won't want me doing it, they never have— but what other choice do I have? The bakery's going to close eventually; they only have enough supplies for a few more weeks. Bad enough that you're helping us now, but we can't depend on that forever, and now Gale's bailed on us..."  
  
"Gale didn't bail on you. He's doing this _for_ you," she was quick to point out. She didn't know what made her defend Gale thus, because his relationship with his brother was none of her business, but she could see the Hawthornes loved each other so much, and it was a pity for such a close-knit family to let situations like these tear them apart.  
  
The excuse she had come up for Gale's absence was that he was hunting and gathering; since he couldn't go out to the forest freely because the electricity on the fence was on, he had decided he would go on an extended hunting trip just this once, taking advantage of the fact that they wouldn't be looking for him because of the cave-in at the mines, and he would stock up on as much game as he could get until Thread's security measures relaxed a little. So technically she had lied to them back then, but she wasn't lying to Rory now: Everything Gale did, deep down, was to secure his family's well-being.  
  
Hazelle had understandably been upset her son hadn't told her any of this himself, and of course she was worried about him, but she'd been gracious enough not to take her feelings out on Madge. She reluctantly accepted Madge's help, only after roping her into having dinner with them every night. They didn't like charity, but sharing was okay.  
  
Vick didn't have much of a problem with it once his mother accepted it, and Posy took to her presence with enthusiasm, apparently glad to have another female around instead of just boys (Madge had laughed at the way her little nose twisted when she said this, like having three older brothers was a true test of her patience). She thought Rory would be the most difficult, but if he was angry, he didn't direct it at her. He simply told her he would find a way to pay her back (which she wouldn't accept, of course, but she wasn't about to argue about that with him). She didn't know why he was so accepting, but you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, or so she told herself.  
  
She reminded herself that it was better to keep him that way, but still she added just the one last thought. "Maybe it would've been better if you had waited until Gale came back to make that decision..." she intoned lightly, not intending for it to be a criticism, just meaning to give him something to think about.  
  
Rory scoffed. "But I don't know when _that_ will be, do I?"  
  
She shook her head, disappointed that he still insisted on being angry with his brother for all the wrong reasons. "He said it would only take a couple weeks—" she started, but was interrupted by the horn loudspeakers located on tall posts along the sides of the road, blasting out a warning sound.  
  
Both of them were momentarily startled. The noise was abrupt, and usually when those speakers came alive, it meant bad news. It was different than the sound they used to alert people of an accident in the mines, though; this one meant a mandatory event was coming up in the Games, and everybody had fifteen minutes to get to their houses or the Town Square in order to watch it.  
  
As they were still just at the edge of Town by that point, they came to the unspoken agreement to stop talking and just head to the Hawthornes' house as quickly as they could. Rory led, walking a few steps ahead of her; she thought she knew the way fairly well after having dinner with them three times, but Rory knew the Seam like the back of his hand and could probably get them there quicker.  
  
Thankfully, the food was mostly greens. Hazelle made them into a salad, with a little bit of berry dressing Madge had found in her fridge (it was her favorite, so their cook made it by bucketfuls— he wouldn't notice if there was a little less than there had been the day before). She also brought a small piece of crumbly, cow's milk cheese that was split between the five of them (Vick declared it the best thing he'd ever eaten), and all the dry beef she had left from two days ago, because Posy's expression of genuine joy at being able to eat real beef had been the highlight of her week.  
  
Just starting to eat, they piled in front of the television to wait for the mandatory event. Madge, Rory and Hazelle sat on the couch, with the boy in the middle, while Posy took up residence on the armrest to Madge's left, and Vick sat down on the floor by his mother's legs. "Hey, where's Buttercup?" he asked as he looked around the room.  
  
Posy leaned forward and threw her brother a glare of doom— which told Madge the girl really was a pro at dealing with three rowdy boys on a daily basis, because she hadn't known it was even possible for a nine-year-old to look that stony. "You're only now noticing that he's missing?" She shook her head, in disbelief. "He took off like two days ago. I don't know where he goes when he disappears, but he'll come back whenever he feels like it."  
  
Vick rolled his eyes. "Lucky cat, he doesn't have to watch the Games," he muttered under his breath. Madge did not comment on the exchange, but she had to admit Vick had a point: lucky cat indeed.  
  
The squabbling between the two of them went on for a few more minutes, and nobody really bothered to call them on about it because the TV was just showing the recap of the day, which was pretty uneventful. The Careers, by this point only the Tributes from Two, got hungry and got sent food from their sponsors. Most of the others had already figured out the use of the spile by then, though most couldn't recognize substances as easily as Prim could.  
  
The girl from Three found a brownish liquid she rubbed on her burns from the acid rain, which apparently helped with the pain, or at least kept them from getting infected. The girl from Ten kept on, only washing her wounds off with water. That girl had some stamina, if she was still on her feet after having being stabbed, beaten and shaken that much. The boy from Four walked the arena non-stop, like he was looking for something.  
  
Most of them were just living off water, and after three days it was taking a toll on their health, so they weren't really hunting for each other at that point. This was good for Prim, who _had_ found a means of sustenance in the trees, as she could keep up her strength as an advantage for when they _did_ decide to come looking for her. She had a quiet day for the most part.  
  
When the entire arena started to shake, a small icon on the top right corner of the screen let them know this was being transmitted live; this was the event the Capitol wanted everybody to see.  
  
Initially the screen just showed the Cornucopia, where the male Tribute from Two was keeping watch as his district partner slept. The shaking woke the girl up, but since she was inside the metal structure, she couldn't see the acid water level start to rise. He did. "Barb, we have to move! We have to go!" He didn't wait to see whether she had heard him before jumping toward the trees.  
  
By the time the girl woke up fully, picked up her supplies pack and ran out of the Cornucopia, the rising water made the distance between her and the tree line too far for her to jump. She switched gears quickly and decided to climb to the top of the Cornucopia for safety, but the water kept rising and it didn't look like it was going to stop. When the water touched the metal, it dissolved in a reaction so strong, it bubbled violently, releasing a thick cloud of gas into the air.  
  
The girl desperately searched through her pack to look for something that might help her; however, her fear was making her drop things and the gas rising up kept throwing her into coughing fits. Back at the Hawthornes' they all watched this quietly, as it felt like they were just waiting for the girl to die— all but Posy, who whimpered every few seconds: "The water's gonna get to her! It's gonna get her!"  
  
The water didn't get her. Instead, when it got high enough it started to dissolve the electric wiring on the inside on the Cornucopia, shorting the circuits and releasing sparks of electricity into the air. It only took seconds for the gas to ignite. There was a huge explosion, which blew up what was left of the sandy island the metal structure that was on it, leaving nothing but debris that got lost in the acid water. The girl disappeared with the blast. Posy hid her face behind Madge's shoulder, crying silently.  
  
The other tributes didn't hear the explosion, or the boom of the cannon that came right after, because they were too busy running for their lives among the trees. When the water level stopped rising, the trees started to get pulled to the bottom of the arena. In an aside, Caesar Flickerman explained the Gamemakers seemed to be drawing the Tributes together. He showed in a map a small area of the arena they would leave standing, just a sliver of the wide space; the Tributes would have to face each other, without a doubt. There was no hiding in such a small place.  
  
They showed flashes of all of them as they ran, notably the boy from Two, who had barely reached a walkable branch when the tree he was standing on got pulled. He managed to jump to safety, but even as he tried to get away, the edge of the tree line disappeared right at his heels. Another tribute featured a lot was the boy from Four, who had just caught sight of Prim and was hot on her heels; the Gamemakers were obviously expecting a confrontation.  
  
Madge was worried about Prim, but she was also worried about Rory. Vick had told her before that through Prim's days of preparation Rory hardly ever paid attention to the television, that it was too hard for him to watch. Since the Games started— or maybe since Gale left— he had not missed any of the mandatory viewings, yet Madge could see there was so much tension he was still keeping to himself, and she didn't think that was good. There he sat, quiet, his eyes fixed on the TV screen, the only sign of his anxiety being the way he kept bouncing his leg up and down reflexively. He was hardly even blinking.  
  
The bouncing became faster and she put a hand on his knee, effectively stopping him. "She's going to be okay," she insisted. It was becoming surprisingly hard for her to stay quiet through this, to remember that she was just a temporary guest in their house, that she was not supposed to be comforting them (certainly not Rory, and not Posy, who was all but draped around her shoulders, like hiding from the images on TV could make them not real). Maybe she shouldn't have said anything, because that was the exact moment the boy from Four caught up to Prim.  
  
The next few minutes were tense. None of them could believe it when the boy appropriated the cattle prod but otherwise left Prim alone. When she managed to dodge the boy from Two who just ran by without noticing her presence, it seemed like she might be able to get away unscathed, for just one moment.  
  
Four was busy with the force field, it was obvious he was trying to use it in some way. "I've heard about that," Hazelle spoke up then. "I was too young to remember watching it, but my brother told me that's how Haymitch Abernathy won. He used the force field to kill his last opponent." Madge's thoughts flew to her aunt and once again, she felt completely out of place— not only in the Seam, but with a family.  
  
And then Ten's rope appeared out of nowhere, and even she couldn't hold back a scream.  
  
It was obvious from Prim's expression that, just as she had with his district partner, she meant to help the boy from Four. Vick expressed under his breath what was in everyone's mind: "Just run away, Prim, just— just leave him, get out of there..." But there was nowhere to run, not after the Gamemakers had removed practically all the trees. So she tried to help him and failed, and was left to face the girl from Ten one-on-one. The odds were completely against her.  
  
But then, just as Ten's blade came down to slice at her shoulder, Prim slammed the cattle prod against the force field. Tendrils of electricity crackled viciously around them for a moment, until the screen went completely white. Then there was just heavy static. About five seconds later, the power in the entire house fizzled out.  
  
Once again, Vick spoke for everyone: "...What just happened?"  
  
None of them had an answer for that.  
  
Madge meant to go home straight away, worried that her mother might be alone in the dark if this blackout extended throughout the entire district, as the last two had. Hazelle wouldn't hear of it, though; there were part of the Seam that weren't safe to walk through after dark, and even more so when the lights were out. Instead, Vick went out to ask around the neighboring houses if anyone knew the extent of the power loss.  
  
While he was out, Hazelle went to the back of the house to get some candles, and then spent some time washing everyone's dishes. Madge initially offered to help her, but Posy was looking so scared, she decided to try and get the girl's mind off the Games for a while. She started telling her stories about back when she was in grade school. Madge was never one to interact with other kids much, but she was very observant, so she got to witness a lot of funny or entertaining moments other people might have missed. Posy particularly enjoyed the story of when a gaggle of baby geese had followed Bobby Gorkin around school for a whole day.  
  
No one even dared talk to Rory. He was still sitting there on the couch, torso completely bent forward so that his face was hidden against his knees, even almost an hour later. That was around the time Vick came back, letting out a breathless "Mom!" as he crossed the threshold.  
  
Hazelle had just walked out of the kitchen when someone else came in right after Vick. "Gale!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to wrap her arms around her wayward son. "Oh, thank goodness you're back!" She squeezed him tightly. "Don't you _do_ that to me, ever again!"  
  
Posy basically threw herself over the back of the couch so she could slam into him, her skinny arms winding themselves around his waist. Rory looked up, for the first time since the lights went out. Even someone as tall as Gale had trouble wrapping his arms about so many people at once. "Sorry, Ma. I'm back now," he assured his mother, with a smile Madge had never really seen before grace his face.  
  
Hazelle pulled back, wiping a couple stray tears from her face. "Well. You must be exhausted from walking so much. Come now, Madge here was kind enough to bring us some dinner. I'll serve you some." She went back into the kitchen again, making small comments about having to use the dishes she'd already washed, but everybody knew she was more than happy to, now that her son had come back home.  
  
At the mention of her name, Gale noticed her presence for the first time and she gave him a little wave, as if saying "yes, that's me." He nodded. "So, how was the extended hunting trip?" she asked him, trying to let him know what his excuse was supposed to be without making it too obvious.  
  
He caught on quickly. "It was good," he said, leaving his satchel— which she could only hope was full of game— on the table. He lightly tapped Posy's head, for she was still hugging him with a death grip, so she would let him walk. She let go, only to run to the kitchen to ask her mother if there was any cheese left, because Gale should get some even though he was late. Madge wanted to ask about his time in the forest, about Thirteen, but before she could, he intervened again. "I came up to the fence and found it was off. So I rushed here and then Vick told me... What exactly happened with Prim?"  
  
"We don't know," Madge admitted as she moved around the couch to stand closer to him. She didn't want to have to talk to him from across the room. She belatedly noticed that Rory was no longer sitting there; he'd probably gone back to their room, so they didn't need to walk on eggshells for the moment. "She hit the force field with electricity and the whole thing went blank. Gale, I'm worried she might be—"  
  
But she couldn't finish the thought, as a shockwave rocked the house all the way down to the floor they were standing on. It was so powerful, it sent Gale sprawling back into one of the chairs by the kitchen table, and Madge straight into his lap. "What was that?" she asked as she quickly got up, worried less about the awkward position they wound up in, and more about the loud boom that accompanied the hard shake.  
  
"No clue," he muttered, standing up as well. "Ma? Pose? You guys okay?"  
  
"We're fine!" Hazelle confirmed as she left the kitchen to go knock on the door of the bedroom. "Rory? Rory, open up! Are you alright?"  
  
Just as Rory came out to assure his mother that he was safe and sound, Vick, who had gone back outside when Gale first came in, appeared on the doorway again, looking pale, his gray eyes wide and very much terrified. "Guys, you have to come out here! There was a _huge_ explosion in Town."  
  
If ever there were words that could get Madge running, it was those. She made it outside in a second, Gale trailing easily behind her with his longer strides. Just as they turned to look in the direction of Town, however, there was another explosion, once again almost knocking them off their feet. She couldn't see an explosion, not really, it was too far away; but she could see light in that direction, much more than there should be during a blackout, the air in the horizon shimmering like it would if there was a fire burning.  
  
And that's when they saw the planes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did warn you about the cliffhangers. :P
> 
> Chapter 28 is Gale and will start right where this one left off, though, so no need to worry about me leaving you hanging on that horrible note for five chapters. Meanwhile, I'll make Madge and Rory BFFs yet, you'll see. It's all part of the master plan.
> 
> Nerdy note of the chapter: District Two girl is named "Barbara" because Saint Barbara is the patron saint of stonemasons. Also, a chemistry note, because I can't not include some chemistry: when a strong acid (such as the caustic water in the arena) comes in contact with a metal (such as the Cornucopia, which I figure is mostly steel or aluminum), the chemical reaction that occurs produces hydrogen gas, which is highly flammable. Thus, large amounts of acid, plus huge Cornucopia, plus sparks, equals humongous boom.
> 
> Sorry this one took so long! My classes are pretty demanding and I've been so exhausted, even when I had free time I still felt too burned out to write. The fact that chapter 32 is in Gale's PoV certainly didn't make it any easier. But I figured I should get off my butt and update before 2012 is over. That way if the world does actually end on the 21st, I wouldn't go with all of you mad at me for not updating. That would be very bad karma. ;)
> 
> I hope the next one won't take this long— Christmas/New Year's break is coming up in a couple of weeks, so I'll try my hardest to write then, though I can't make any promises since I'll be traveling with my family. In case you don't hear from me before the end of the year, though, I wish you all very happy holidays if you celebrate any during this time, and a very happy new year!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought— reviews are always encouraged! And feel free to follow me on tumblr or twitter, I've been known to post random hints or even snippets of future chapters as I write them. I also just posted yesterday the summaries for the two fics I'll be writing when I finish this one, so you might be interested in that! You can find the URLs in my profile. See y'all next time! :)


	28. Gale: The Right Thing To Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 28: The right thing to say_
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
>  **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
Under any other circumstances, Gale might have been appalled that he was being outrun by a girl.  
  
It's not that he thought girls _couldn't_ outrun him: Katniss could pull it off if she set her mind to it— she was lighter than him and very nimble, and used to the rigors of uneven terrain, like in the forest. But _Madge Undersee_? She seemed to always have a hard time carrying stacks of paper, and the farthest she walked on a daily basis was probably the distance between the Justice Building and her house.  
  
Granted, she'd had an advantage: they'd all been thrown to the ground by another explosion, one apparently closer to them, and it had taken him a second to gather his bearings and get up again. In that single second, she was already off and running toward Town. On top of that, it was hard to run when everybody else was stampeding in the opposite direction; he kept smacking into terrified people and it was only because he was taller than most of them that he hadn't lost sight of her already. She didn't seem to be having the same problem. Guess there was something to be said about running purely on adrenaline.  
  
Again, under any other circumstances, he might've even been impressed. But it was really not the time to be thinking of such things when he had to stop her from _stupidly running to her death._  
  
He had just narrowly avoided colliding with a middle-aged woman when he caught sight of someone familiar also coming his way. "Thom! Hey, Thom! Stop her! Don't let her pass!" It was a testament to their friendship that Thom immediately complied without question. Or maybe it was just that Gale's call had startled him so much he stopped out of reflex, and she ran straight into him.  
  
She was struggling against Thom's hold and screaming about how she had to get to her house when Gale reached them. "There's nothing there," Thom insisted, his words failing as Madge was too distraught to heed his words. He addressed Gale instead. "Bristel came across the Cartwright girl, and she told him the first couple of bombs dropped over the square— the entire thing's gone, man," he finished, pale and breathing hard from both agitation and fear.  
  
"I have to go check!" Madge insisted, kicking and pulling, and trying to get out of Thom's hold. Gale was starting to think throwing her over his shoulder might be the only way for them to be able to get the hell out. "My house's basement is a bunker! If my parents got there they might still be alive—!"  
  
It came as no surprise to Gale that the Mayor would have a safety bunker in his house while the rest of the District was left to perish under an air raid. But he didn't have a moment to stew on that when another bomb fell, closer yet, and they were all thrown down to the ground once again.  
  
This time, he wasn't letting her get a head start. "Hey! _HEY!_ Listen!" he exclaimed, getting on his knees and grabbing her by her upper arms, so she would _have_ to hear what he was saying. "If that's true then we can come back and check on them after this is over," he told her, fixing his stern gaze on her. "I'm sure they took cover and they'll be okay, but you _won't_ if you go out there!" he stressed, his hands tightening around her shoulders. "Determination won't save you when a bomb _falls on your head_ , Madge!"  
  
His bluntness seemed to get through to her. Her blue eyes were still liquid as she looked up at him, scared out of her mind, but after a moment she nodded. She was gasping deeply as she attempted to get a grip on her emotions, and Thom helped Gale get her to her feet.  
  
"What can we do, Gale?" Thom asked, looking around at the people all around them, desperate. "Everybody's running, but where are we even going to go? We can't escape. If they really want to kill us, then we're dead already."  
  
"It's Thirteen all over again," Gale muttered under his breath. Knowing that wasn't about to make anyone feel better, so he shook his head. "Look, this isn't just an attack on Town, it's an attack on Twelve. The bombs are dropping closer each time, and sooner or later they'll reach the Seam. We have to get out somehow." He frowned, making a split-second decision. "We get to the Meadow. The power's out— the fence will be off, we can bring it down. We'll head to the forest."  
  
"There's no way we can survive in the forest," Thom countered immediately.  
  
"Well, it's better than burning to death!" Gale barked back. Madge shuddered in his arms. Thom was taken aback, but Gale knew he understood. "You go get Dorit. Bring whatever food you have. Come back around the west border, tell as many people as you can. Tell Bristel to do the same on the east. We meet at the Meadow, and then we'll figure things out from there, okay?" Thom nodded, taking off toward his house to get his pregnant girlfriend to safety.  
  
He pretty much had to drag Madge back to his house. His entire family was already outside, Posy crying in his mother's arms as the rest of them looked up at the now clearly visible flames engulfing Town. The walls of the house were already beginning to crack from the repeated explosions, and it was safer outside than it was inside. Rory and Vick had already packed up as much of the leftover food as they could, knowing they had to leave.  
  
He told his mother to take Posy and Madge and head to the meadow straight away. Rory and Vick each went in different directions of the Seam, to warn people and help them get to the meadow if needed. So did Gale. The explosions had left many houses in dire condition and several people were injured, but some could still make it.  
  
Once, after an explosion, he looked up and a few blocks back, in the direction of the train station, and he saw a huge ball of flames erupt above the rooftops. He knew it had to be the coal warehouses. The bombs had reached the Seam.  
  
When it happened, he had been arguing with an older woman who simply refused to come with him. There was a large gash in her left leg, it was bleeding profusely, and he knew she was right— even if they managed to get out of the district, they'd be out in the forest and her wound was certain to get infected. Without Prim, they had nobody who could heal her, or any of the other injured people. They'd probably just die either way. It would increase everybody else's chances if they just left them behind. But he had to try; it wasn't his decision to make. It was hers, though, and she insisted on staying. He was forced to leave her behind as the explosions started coming too close for comfort.  
  
He still hated himself for it, though.  
  
He didn't think he'd ever felt as relieved as he was when he got to the meadow and saw that his entire family was there, safe and sound. With a few of the men, they managed to bring a whole section of the fence down, Gale grabbing his bow and knife from the usual hiding place inside a tree trunk. They ventured out into the forest in the dark.  
  
Only about 100 people from Town had made it out, and about seven times as many from the Seam. That was only about a tenth of Twelve's full population, he thought painfully, but it was still too large a group to maneuver comfortably through the forest. It took them the whole night to get to the lake. Much like it had been for him a few days ago, it was the best place for them to settle down until they could figure out what to do from then on.  
  
The next morning he led a group of people back to Twelve, to look for survivors. It was just a small group, all men— that way they moved a lot faster. Most of the houses in the Seam were still smoking because they were wood, and the coal warehouses, as well as the entrance to the mines, still sustained live flames.  
  
They didn't find very many people alive. They managed to pull a few people from the rubble, most of them with broken limbs, and probably head injuries. They found one boy, probably a little younger than Vick, who had somehow survived the bombing unscathed and had been scavenging for food among the wreckage since then. All in all, less than a half dozen people, but every single life counted.  
  
Gale insisted on going back to Town to check as well, particularly for Madge's parents. When they got there, her house was in ruins. All the buildings on the perimeter of the Town Square were pretty much blown down to their foundations. The block the Mellarks' bakery had stood on was completely wiped out; he had the feeling that was not a coincidence. Eventually they found the entrance to the Undersees' bunker, but there was nobody there.  
  
When they went back to the lake, he had to tell Madge about her family. She broke down. He felt genuinely bad for her when he saw her fall to pieces in his mother's arms.  
  
The people were getting hungry; children especially, who hadn't slept a wink during the night and had not eaten for the past twelve or so hours. So he rounded up the bow and any other implements he could use, threw the fish lines, and instructed a few men on how to roughly hunt, set up snares, fish, and, with the help of Mr. Everdeen's book that Rory had grabbed from Katniss's house, gather edible plants.  
  
That's what he did for the entirety of that day and the next: hunt relentlessly, only taking few, short-as-possible, breaks. He was dead tired, but it stopped him from thinking about the bombing, so he kept at it. Eventually his exhaustion was so evident that even Bristel's comments about how he looked like he'd been run over by a coal train started to become serious. It took his mother one look at his face for her to push him to get some rest.  
  
He wasn't about to fall asleep in the middle of the day, but stuck with nothing to do until his mother declared him "rested enough," he found himself looking around the clearing, at the people settled around the lake. Children and adults, people of all ages, really. They were all tired, dirty, hungry, hurt, and on top of that feeling down because they lost their home, but they were alive.  
  
Gale had always considered himself a survivor— always looking for a way, any way, to help his family make it through each day since his father died. But after the bombing, they were all survivors. His family, his friends, every single person there. Despite everything, the Capitol couldn't wipe them off the map that easily. They could make it. They _would_ make it. He would make sure of it.  
  
His gaze fell on Madge, who was sitting on a log a few feet closer to the lake than he was. Her legs were pressed together and resting to one side, her hands on her lap— he wondered if that was something that was just ingrained in her, because there was no point to sitting so primly in the middle of a forest. Every once in a while she would rise one of her hands to wipe at her cheeks. She'd basically been crying for two straight days.  
  
He moved to sit beside her on the log. It startled for a moment, but then she quickly wiped her remaining tears off her face, like she didn't want him to see her cry. He pretended he didn't notice. They were silent for a few minutes, both looking off into the lake. He didn't really know what to say to her. He wasn't very good at comforting people, and never in a million years thought he'd ever want to say something comforting to _her_ , but she had helped his family and this time, this _one_ time, he could commiserate. He knew what it was like to lose someone you loved. "You'll start to forget them eventually, you know."  
  
She turned sharply to him, a deep frown marring her features, and he knew right away it was the wrong thing to say. "That is the worst thing you could have—"  
  
"That came out wrong," he corrected himself, aware that he'd sounded like a jerk. "What I mean is... it gets better. Eventually." He wasn't sure if he really meant it; sometimes he would think of his father and still miss him so much. But after so many years, the acute emptiness that had been there in the beginning had mellowed down to a dull ache.  
  
She seemed to understand that in his own way, he was trying to give her some reassurance, and her previous indignation went away. But of course a little compassion wasn't enough to make everything better. She looked down at her hands on her lap and pressed her lips together. " _Should_ it get better?" She shook her head. "It hardly seems fair."  
  
He almost snorted. Of course it wasn't fair. None of this was fair. _Life_ wasn't fair, and maybe it was about time she felt that on her own skin. But that would be callous of him. It wasn't her fault that people died and their loved ones were forced to go on without them. It wasn't her fault that Twelve had been bombed. She was as much a victim as any of them were.  
  
So, should it get better? "It has to," he said with a shrug. "If you want to survive." Because, really, that was the only thing they knew how do: survive.  
  
She nodded despondently and, wiping away a stray tear, went back to watching the lake. He pushed himself off the log, deciding instead to sit on the ground while resting his back against the wood, instead. He was just stretching his legs, watching a few mothers who were washing their toddlers by the edge of the lake near them, when she spoke up again. "I'm sorry. I'm being nothing but a load."  
  
He twisted his head to look up at her. She had shifted her position as well, pulling her knees up so she could rest her forearms on them. She was no longer crying, but her lips were shaking slightly as she spoke. "I know I should be strong like Katniss, and keep going even through the pain, but I just..."  
  
He interrupted her before she could continue that train of thought. "Katniss had to be strong for her sister. You don't have that. It's okay to cry." That, he truly meant. He and Katniss had had a similar experience: after his father died, he couldn't allow himself a moment to grieve because someone had to put food on the table for his mother and his siblings. But many times he had wished he could just stop and cry. He was only thirteen, and he hadn't been ready to lose a parent.  
  
But even though Madge was an adult, no one could ever be ready for something like that. And she was left all alone in the world in one fell swoop. There was only one thing she had left right now, and no one should take that away from her: her right to grieve on her own terms. "And you really should stop comparing yourself to Katniss," he added. "It doesn't work like that."  
  
She said nothing, only sniffled a little, and he wondered whether that made her feel better or worse. Who knew. But eventually she took a deep breath and said: "I think... I need to do something. Make myself useful. I think that would help."  
  
He couldn't blame her: wasn't that what he'd been doing for the past two days? "My mom and some of the other women are working on rationing the food," he suggested. "Some people are also working on a schedule, because we can't feed everybody at the same time. Maybe you can work on that. You're good with schedules, right?" He didn't know what all her job as the Mayor's assistant entailed, but he figured schedules had to be a part of it somehow.  
  
After some thought she nodded, and stood up, patting clean the back of her skirt before stepping over his legs to go talk to his mother. Left on his own, he slid further down against the log until his neck was against the wood, at least as comfortably as it was ever going to get. He crossed his arms and told himself he was only going to rest his eyes for fifteen minutes. He really was very tired.  
  
He slept for three hours.  
  
The next day was the third day they spent in the forest, and morning found Gale instructing the men on how to set up new fish lines. The waterfowl that had been so mellow when he'd been to the lake on his own had apparently decided that eight hundred plus people was a little too much for them, and had chosen to flee rather than stay by the water like, well, sitting ducks. He suspected there was a stream relatively close by they must've flown to, but decided against looking for it. They had mouths to feed and no time to waste exploring.  
  
It was around noon, as he was helping one of the older teens fix up a tear in their fishing net, when it happened. Normally it was hard to distinguish one particular voice when there were so many people in the same place, but this one was loud enough to cut through the natural murmur of the crowd: a female scream. A shrill, terrified scream.  
  
He immediately dropped everything and ran toward the trees, Bristel and a couple other men right at his heels. The scream came again once, twice; he tried to follow the sound until it died down, and he could only go straight in the direction he thought it came from. He ran until some 100 yards in, he came across Madge, as pale as a sheet of paper, backing up so urgently against the trunk of a tree that she might as well be plastered to it. A few steps in front of her was Rory, bludgeoning the carcass of a wild dog so huge it could be confused with a wolf with a thick, hardwood branch.  
  
It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened: the dog had attacked Madge, and Rory had saved her. But even if the imminent danger was past, the scene was still out of control: Rory had swung the branch to the side, where it smacked hard against another tree, and had switched to viciously kicking the dead animal, like he was unloading all his frustrations on it.  
  
Gale moved quickly. "Hey! Stop that! Rory, that's enough." He grabbed his younger brother around the shoulders and forcibly pulled him away from the animal. "Don't, we can use that for food." They boy still struggled for a few more seconds, but after a heartbeat Gale's words got through to him and he stopped moving. They did need all the food they could get. He was still as tense as a loaded spring, however.  
  
Gale turned to look at the other men, signaling for them to take the dog back so they could cook it. Bristel and another guy picked it up, and the group marched back to the lake. Gale was distracted watching them leave, and Rory took that chance to push himself out of his brother's hold. Before Gale could say anything, he stormed off, passing the other men easily with his angry strides.  
  
With a sigh, Gale ran a hand through his head and then turned toward Madge. "You alright?" he asked her, and she nodded, still reeling. She was wide-eyed, and just beginning to catch her breath. "You need to be careful," he pointed out. The warning came a little bit late, but he thought it was implicit.  
  
She cleared her throat in that demure way of hers— she was probably a little sore from repeatedly screaming at the top of her lungs— and swallowed hard. "I know, I just... I heard something, and I thought someone might be around," she explained feebly.  
  
Something about the way she said that was amusing to him. It was an unexpected feeling, given all they'd been through in the past few days; not very many things were amusing given their circumstances. "It's a forest. There are lots of things around," he said, his tone slightly teasing. "So I guess your decision not to be a load lasted about a day, huh?" he added, the corners of his mouth curling into a small smirk.  
  
He saw her cringe, and wondered if, just like the day before, he had said the wrong thing again. "Sorry. I'll stick to the lake from now on," she said, sounding a bit defeated. She wrapped her arms around her torso and made to go back in the same direction the others had taken.  
  
He caught hold of her elbow before she could leave. "Hey, I was kidding," he assured her, his tone light. When she turned back toward him, he let go of her arm and went to pick up the branch Rory had discarded. It was sturdy; maybe they could use it for something. "You're not a load," he continued speaking. "You've never had to deal with this stuff, and no one blames you for not knowing what to do."  
  
"You used to blame me."  
  
Her response was a barely-there mutter and when he looked at her again, the branch held under his arm, she was looking down at the ground. He took a moment to study her, from her golden hair, all messed up from when she had pressed herself against the tree trunk, down to her simple shoes which were no longer shiny. She looked so out of place in the middle of the forest, yet she was trying so hard to belong. She was something of a conundrum, this girl.  
  
He shrugged. "Yeah, well, I don't anymore." And he was surprised to realize it was true. He had been wrong about her. All the money in the world couldn't save her family, after all, and that meant all his misplaced resentment toward her had burned down along with Twelve.  
  
She raised her head, her blue eyes looking up straight at him this time, and smiled. "Thanks." As they started walking back toward the lake, she pointed out that he should really try and talk to Rory. "It's not really you he's mad at," she added. He thought he understood what she meant by that.  
  
They split up at the lake and he grudgingly went to look for his disgruntled brother. When that kid wanted to disappear, however, he was damn good at it, especially among so many people. Not counting all the times he had to stop to help someone with something, it took him nearly an hour to catch sight of Rory on the opposite side of the lake, using his pocket knife to sharpen the end of a stick Gale suspected would be used for a snare.  
  
"Hey," Gale said, dropping to sit down beside him. "That's good. We could use more of those." Rory's only response was an uninterested shrug, and for a moment it was like looking into a mirror. Gale let out a sigh of irritation. _He is not you_ , he reminded himself of his mother's advice.  
  
"Listen, Rory..." he began once more. "I just... I want you to know I'm proud of you, okay? You've done good, helping me and the guys get food for everybody." And it was true. Everybody instinctively looked to Gale for guidance when it came to surviving in the forest, because it seemed he was the only one there with any practical experience— but he wasn't.  
  
Rory paused in his carving and frowned, the crinkle in his brow somewhere between surprise and defensiveness. "I can only set up snares," he mumbled, subdued.  
  
"Well, I couldn't have handled everything on my own," Gale admitted, and that was true as well. It had been hard enough just being the head of his family, but now there were so many people here to think of, so many lives suddenly depending on him. He was only just one man; he couldn't do everything. "Even if it's just snares, it helps."  
  
Rory seemed to relax a little, and for a moment Gale thought he'd managed to pull him out of his funk, but then his expression darkened once again. "Yeah. It helps everybody, except the one person I really want to help." He grabbed his knife with renewed vehemence and started hacking at the stick again.  
  
And there it was, Gale thought. Madge was right: it was not about him at all. "If she were here, she'd be proud of you, too," he told his brother, sincerely. He had missed Prim a lot over the past few days. Not just because of all the injured, sick people among the group of survivors either, but just because she could always see the positive side of everything, and they needed that more than ever.  
  
Rory's movements did not still completely, but they became less abrupt. He inhaled deeply. "Yeah, but she's not here," he said, in an exhalation. He was resolutely looking down at his hands. "I just... I don't even know what happened that night," he admitted, worry evident in his voice. Gale knew it was taking a lot for him to say it. "I don't know if she's alive, if she's hurt... Is she even still in the arena? Are the Games still going? It was all so confusing."  
  
Gale hadn't seen it happen, himself, but everybody he had talked to seemed to agree that whatever had happened in the arena that night, it wasn't normal, even for the Games. Other than that, they were all clueless as to what it meant for Prim, or the rest of the tributes. It was bad enough that it prompted the Capitol to bomb Twelve, though, and now that they were all in the middle of nowhere without any means of communication, they were even further in the dark about it.  
  
He shook his head, unable to give his brother any answers. "I don't know what's going on, but all we can do for now is help those we _can_ help and trust that Katniss can get her out," he asserted, because as long as it wasn't confirmed that Prim and Katniss were dead, they could still very well be out there, safe and sound.  
  
Rory paused in his carving and gave him a sideways glance. "Since when did you become such an idealist?" he asked, sounding legitimately incredulous.  
  
Gale felt himself starting to scowl at the implication that he couldn't be optimistic— but that was a stupid thing to get defensive over and would probably get them back where they started. So he let it go, with a shrug. "We just lost our home," he said, his tone grave. "I don't even want to think what it would be like to lose Katniss and Prim, too."  
  
And that was the bottom line: Katniss and Prim were alright. They had to be. Anything else was unthinkable.  
  
Rory swallowed hard, and put aside both stick and knife, like he simply couldn't continue working on it anymore. They remained quiet for a few minutes, both of them ruminating on that last thought. Rory only moved to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands. It reminded Gale that he wasn't the only one who was tired.  
  
Eventually the boy let out a sigh. "I'm sorry," he started, "about what I said before. I didn't mean it." He meant their argument from the day the Gamemakers' scores were revealed. He wouldn't meet Gale's eyes and his whole posture screamed how contrite he felt about it. "I mean, Peeta's a great guy, but... you're my brother," he finished, in a bashful mumble.  
  
Gale's hand rose to clap his shoulder. Rory looked straight at him for the first time in the entire conversation. "It's okay. I shouldn't have been so hard on you either," Gale conceded. He lightly messed up his brother's hair, like he used to when they were younger— somewhere around the time Rory hit double digits he would always shrug away from the move because he insisted he wasn't a little kid anymore. This time, though, he didn't complain. It was a familiar gesture, reassuring for both of them.  
  
Gale moved to get up. "You really should make that end sharper, though," he said, pointing at the half-finished peg on the ground beside Rory. "So it'll go in deeper. It's supposed to be a stake, not a figurine."  
  
Rory caught on to the attempt at brotherly banter (well, it wasn't entirely banter: the stick _did_ need to be sharpened more), and rolled his eyes. "You just couldn't resist, could you?" he deadpanned, shaking his head in an amused fashion. It was the most comfortable they'd been with each other since the Reaping.  
  
As he continued carving out the stake, Gale meant to go back to the fishing net he'd dropped so abruptly earlier, but found himself stopping dead in his tracks. He could hear a sound almost buzzing in the background; he hadn't noticed it before because of his conversation with Rory.  
  
He immediately went into high guard, but before he could take two steps, Thom ran up to him, so urgently he was almost tripping over other people in his haste, and looking completely aghast. "Gale!" he clamored, almost a wheeze. "They're coming! There's a—" He didn't even get to finish the phrase, as that was the moment a hovercraft flew at high speed right above their heads.  
  
Every single person in the clearing went nuts. And understandably so; the last time they'd been approached by aircraft, they had bombs dropped on their homes. Gale, however, was immediately concerned with taking in all the detail he could gather from that fly-by. Came in from the northeast, just as the one he'd seen when he was by himself a few days ago, and toward Twelve. No deceleration. And more importantly, no Capitol insignia.  
  
He got that feeling again, the idea that something just did not add up. If they intended to finish them off, they'd send planes again, not a hovercraft. There was no way they could capture that many people with just one hovercraft. And the planes had been coming from the direction of the Capitol; this craft wasn't. It had come from the direction of Thirteen. Again. Like the last hovercraft, the one that made him turn around four days ago. The one that first got him thinking that something big was about to happen. And he had been right about that.  
  
Regardless, they pushed everyone to retreat into the trees. If Gale was wrong, it would do no good to stay in the clearing. Sure, they could still bomb them or gas them, but they at least had some cover from bullets, harpoons and nets, and they could not be grabbed by the claw. Because they'd come back eventually, Gale knew. They'd been seen, there was no way they hadn't been. So they'd come back for them. Whether it was to finish them off or... he didn't even know what their other option could be... but either way they'd come back.  
  
And they did. Not ten minutes later, when they'd barely managed to keep the last of the crowd out of sight, the aircraft appeared over the clearing again, and stopped, hovering over them in an ominous fashion. There really was no insignia; he hadn't just missed it. And they hadn't shot at them or attacked them in any way yet. It went against his every instinct, but with each second that passed, Gale grew more and more suspicious that this craft might not be Capitol after all.  
  
It was hard to look up with the wind from the rotors pushing at them, but they all saw when the gull-wing doors opened and a ladder came down. A uniformed person— not a Peacekeeper, but definitely military— made their way down to the clearing. A man. He was carrying a megaphone, and that was the only way they could hear him over the roar of the engines. "Are you all survivors from District Twelve?"  
  
Gale and a few of the men stepped forward, out of the trees. They couldn't answer the question, they wouldn't be heard over all the noise, but they had to take some kind of stand. This was the deciding moment: if they were going to capture them or kill them, it was going to be right then. A knife would be useless at that distance and Gale didn't even have his bow with him. They were putting themselves in direct risk but if these people were busy gunning them down, it might at least give the rest a chance to escape into the forest.  
  
The man seemed to notice their hesitation. "We're not from the Capitol. We mean you no harm," he said, enunciating each word very clearly. Just like that, all of Gale's suspicions were confirmed. He could feel the confusion coming off in waves from the men around him. Those two sentences were enough to pull all the people, previously hiding behind trees and cowering in small clusters, to look at what was happening in the clearing. Hundreds of pairs of eyes focused on just the one person.  
  
Gale knew what he was going to say next. And he still couldn't believe it.  
  
"We extend to all of you an offer of asylum, in the name of President Alma Coin and the citizens of District Thirteen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, some actual notes: "Dorit," the name of Thom's girlfriend, comes from Hebrew and means "generation." I thought it was appropriate since she's pregnant and literally about to bring in the next generation. Also, wild dogs are not quite like wolves, they're more likely to roam individually than in packs, especially when coming near people or near inhabited areas.
> 
> In other news, this is one of my favorite chapters so far. Which is odd, not only because it's a Gale PoV, but also because it's very rare for me to actually like what I write. But for some reason, I really love this one. Which means I'm really excited to hear what YOU guys think of it! =D Please do let me know. I always appreciate all your comments, questions and speculation as to what's to come, so please leave a review and we'll chat about it! =)
> 
> I can't really tell you much about what's coming up in the next chapter without spoiling it for you, but you'll finally know what happened to Prim, among other things. So stay tuned, and see y'all next time!


	29. Peeta: Separation Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 29: Separation Anxiety_
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
There were many things haunting Peeta Mellark's mind as he sat outside Thirteen's small medical bay.  
  
He thought he could still hear the sound of the knife embedding itself in Chaff's back the night they stormed the arena. That was impossible, he knew; the hovercraft above them made too much noise for anyone to be able to hear it, but he could swear he heard it every time he closed his eyes.  
  
He had been looking for Prim. Chaff had gone to a level below, to pick up the boy from Four; when the girl from Ten cut the rope she had been strangling him with, he just happened to fall on a branch instead of all the way down to the acid water. It was a miracle he was still alive. He was bruised and unconscious from lack of oxygen, but still hanging on by a thread. They thought all the kids were knocked out when Prim blew the force field, but apparently it wasn't so. Chaff had knelt down beside him to remove his tracker, and the noise was too loud for him to notice the girl from Ten coming up behind him. Peeta had turned his face just at the right moment to see it happen, and his distraught brain provided the sound effects.  
  
He immediately went down, hoping to get to Chaff before it was too late, but the girl pounced on him the minute she caught sight of him. He didn't want to fight her, he was there to get her out, not to hurt her in any way, but he couldn't explain and he could understand how these kids would be wary of any unexplained events. You never knew what the Gamemakers could come up with.  
  
She didn't have a weapon. He was stronger than her, but it was clear she knew how to grapple with stronger opponents. He was struggling to keep up with her and not slip off the branch at the same time. In the end all he could do was use her momentum against her— a wrestling move he'd remembered during his training with Chaff and Finnick— and he threw her entire weight over his shoulder, hoping to disorient her enough that he could get a chance to knock her out. But his center of gravity was shot, and he calculated wrong. She tumbled over the side of the branch and fell down, all the way down to the acid water.  
  
He had killed a child.  
  
As he helplessly watched her fall, he caught sight of Prim, slumped on a branch slightly below him and to the side, burns and blood covering a large portion of her face and torso. Chaff's body was gone, fallen down just like the girl from Ten, but he could still get Prim out of there. So that's what he did.  
  
And then they arrived at Thirteen— which was still a shock even though they had explained the whole thing to him— to news that Twelve had been bombed. They had no way of knowing the extent of the damage or if there were any survivors (his family, his friends, everybody he ever knew), though they had sent out a rescue team that afternoon, as soon as they deemed it was safe for aircraft to fly over the district.  
  
All of that, and the fact that Katniss was nowhere to be found. He had no idea where she was or if she was okay but she was obviously _not in Thirteen_ and he was going insane with worry.  
  
These were all thoughts he was trying to keep in the back of his mind. They prickled at him, a constant ache, like its own brand of torture, but he couldn't let himself dwell on any of it. Not Chaff, not the girl he killed, not Twelve, not even Katniss. Because Prim had been on the verge of death for the past three days, and someone had to be there for her.  
  
Five tributes had survived and had been successfully pulled out of the arena. Two of them got out with comparatively minor injuries (the girl from Three and the boy from Seven), while two others had already sustained heavy damage prior to the extraction (the boy from Two, who had apparently crashed into the force field before it blew, and of course the boy from Four). Out of the five, Prim was the one in the worst condition; all the others had woken up by then.  
  
She was in surgery for a long time. The doctors said she had internal damage from the current when she hit the force field, and then severe burns on her skin because the acid water conducted the electricity in arches around the Tributes. Even when surgery was over, she did not show signs of waking up from the sedation when they estimated she would. They'd been trying to wake her up for hours, but most of the attempts didn't work, and she had already gone into cardiac arrest once.  
  
The doctors had informed him they expected more patients soon, and Prim was too delicate at the moment to be around that. She was moved to a separate room (a smaller one, as there wasn't much space in Thirteen to begin with), but even just moving her next door was risky in her condition, and Peeta was left waiting outside in the hallway for the doctors to let him know if she was going to be alright.  
  
After what felt like hours, the team that was working on Prim finally came out of the room. Peeta stood up immediately. One of them, a shorter, older woman in a white coat who Peeta assumed was the head doctor, approached him carefully and informed him that they expected her to be stable, but remain in a coma state.  
  
"We won't be performing any more attempts to wake her up until a valid medical proxy can make the decision," the woman let him know, gravelly. Peeta didn't know much about medicine, but he knew a "valid proxy" meant a parent or a guardian; in Prim's case, that was Katniss. And he agreed with that. He didn't want to make any decisions over Prim's life, not without Katniss. So Katniss had to be okay. She had to come back. She was needed here.  
  
The doctor told him it was okay if he wanted to go in and see Prim. The group left (he thought he heard them muttering something about "GCS 6" among themselves, as one of the attendants wrote down on his chart, but he didn't know what that meant), and he went inside the small room and pulled up a chair, sitting beside Prim's bed.  
  
It felt so strange to him to see her like this. She was always such a soft, sweet girl and now large patches of skin were covered by angry burns. The rest of her skin was pale, paler than usual, like all her blood was gone, so much that at times it was hard to tell where her skin ended and the bed sheets began. Her hair was knotted, still half in a braid, half falling out of the braid and falling listlessly on the pillow under her head. And she was hooked to all these tubes and machines— he figured the constant beeping should be some sort of reassurance that she was still alive, but she used to brim with life. The bright young girl who came to his bakery to sell him cheese and laugh with Rory. Now she was just lying there, fighting for her life inside her own head.  
  
He stroked her matted hair, combing it lightly with his fingers so that it didn't look so strewn about. "Katniss wouldn't want to see you like this," he whispered, pushing a strand of her blond hair away from her closed eyes. "You have to wake up before your sister gets back, okay?"  
  
As he pulled back his arm he caught sight of the schedule tattooed on the inside of his forearm. It was still the schedule from the previous day— he hadn't showered (or slept) since the day before because he had spent all his time waiting in the medical bay. He hadn't even been paying attention to it, anyway, not with Prim in critical condition, but nobody had called him out on it yet.  
  
He looked up at the clock and saw that he probably should be at dinner at the moment. He wasn't hungry— though he knew he should eat something, he'd been running on nothing but worry for the past three days— but still, the schedule did remind him there was someone he needed to talk to. So, taking comfort in the fact that Prim was going to remain stable, at least for now, he left the medical bay for the first time in almost than 24 hours.  
  
Walking through Thirteen was a completely different experience from walking through Twelve. In his district, everything felt a lot more open. He knew it wasn't, there was still a fence surrounding them nobody could legally get through, but at least there was earth, and fresh air, and he could see the sun. There wasn't anything particularly beautiful or impressive about it— if anything, most people who visited Twelve found it too simple or even dreary, but in his opinion even that was better than this never-ending maze of concrete walls and floors.  
  
He made his way to the dining hall, and he could feel eyes follow him as he moved around the large room. This wasn't unusual; Haymitch and Finnick were Victors and everybody had seen Peeta's propo on TV, so it was only natural that the people of Thirteen would be curious about them. He hadn't been around much so he hadn't had to deal with it much, but this time it worked in his favor, as people were more than helpful when he asked them for directions.  
  
He found Haymitch, not in the dining hall, but in the Collective room located on the same floor. It was a huge room, fit for more people than Thirteen even had, he figured, and as far as he understood it was used when they needed the whole population to gather in assemblies and such. Right then it was mostly empty; only a couple of men who looked to be technicians tinkering with the control panel he could only guess had something to do with the giant screens on the front of the room.  
  
To the back there were stacks of chairs and folded-up tables (probably extras for the dining hall), and that's where Haymitch was. He had pulled out one of each and was slumped there with his feet propped up on the table, legs crossed at his ankles. He was drinking from a small metallic flask that looked like it contained liquor. Peeta had no idea where he could've gotten hold of it (one of the first things he was told when he got to Thirteen was that any production or consumption of intoxicating beverages and other substances was strictly forbidden), but regardless, it simply didn't sit well with him that Haymitch was here getting drunk while Prim, _the girl he was supposed to mentor_ , had been a breath away from death.  
  
Incensed, Peeta stomped over to him and slapped the flask away from Haymitch's hand. It fell with a clatter, contents spilling all over the floor. Haymitch hadn't been expecting that, so all he could do was look from his now empty hand, to Peeta, to the flask on the floor, and back to his empty hand. "Why does that keep happening?" he mumbled under his breath, sounding more sober than he smelled.  
  
Peeta paid him no heed. "Why did you lie about Katniss?" he demanded to know.  
  
Throwing him a scowl, like he was a particularly annoying insect, Haymitch lowered his legs from the table and leaned forward to pick up the flask. "What I told you was the truth," he sentenced, not even bothering to pretend he didn't know what Peeta was talking about. It was like he knew this complaint was going to come up eventually. "They _did_ accomplish their goal. They killed Crane."  
  
"Obviously that's not the _whole_ truth!" Peeta shot back, gesticulating angrily with his arms. He wasn't here to discuss semantics with a drunk.  
  
Haymitch left the flask on the table and crossed his arms. "We were on our way to a crucial mission," he explained. His words slurred a little, but he seemed (mostly) in control of his faculties. "I couldn't risk telling you, and you letting your feelings get in the way and screwing everything up."  
  
The man still insisted on talking down to him even after lying blatantly to his face, and after all the crap he'd gone through in the past three days even someone as patient as Peeta would be sick of it. "The hell with that," he exclaimed, emphasizing his point by slamming his hand on the table so hard, the flask bounced with a loud clang.  
  
"I've done enough for you people to at least deserve the truth from you!" he continued, glaring down at Haymitch. "I'm not so stupid, or unimportant, or _weak_ that I can't handle knowing things." He shook his head sharply. "I'm a big boy, I don't need you sugarcoating things so I don't make mistakes. What I _need_ is to know what I'm getting into. So from now on, just give it to me straight and _I'll_ decide where my priorities lie, alright?"  
  
Haymitch looked at him, as if measuring him up, but his grey eyes looked more tired than they had a minute ago. He looked more tired than Peeta had ever seen him, really. Then he stole a glance to the front of the room, noticing the technicians had already left. Peeta hadn't even thought of what they might think when he started going off at the older man.  
  
"Fine, kid. Have it your way," Haymitch said, sitting up straighter on the chair. He picked up the flask again— there was nothing in it anymore, but he started to play with the cap, twisting it on and off. "The squad was captured as they moved out," he confessed. "And we lost track of them shortly after. We have no way of knowing where they are, or even if they're alive."  
  
Roughly pushing himself away from the from the table, Peeta ran both hands through his hair. He closed his eyes tightly. This was everything he'd been afraid of. Everything he'd been dreading. He felt numb, both literally and figuratively. Katniss might be dead. _Katniss might be dead._ No matter how many times that reverberated in his head, it made no sense to him. It was like the phrase was in some foreign language he simply couldn't comprehend.  
  
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down enough that he could hear what Haymitch said over the sound of his pounding heart, and turned to the older man again. "What's the plan to rescue them?" he asked, his voice breaking because his throat was suddenly dry.  
  
"There's no plan," Haymitch replied, subdued.  
  
"There _has_ to be a plan—"  
  
"There is _no plan_ ," came the reiteration, a little more strongly. For Peeta it was almost like the words were a punch in the stomach; he had to lean his weight against the table because his legs were shaking something bad. Whether in fear or anger, he wasn't sure.  
  
He looked down at Haymitch again, still struggling with disbelief. "Chaff said you needed her. That she was the face of the revolution," he recalled, his voice still hoarse from the sheer effort of holding back the desperation that was threatening to choke him. Chaff said she was important. That they weren't going to let anything happen to her. Or had those been lies, too?  
  
"That's what I thought, too," Haymitch admitted, sounding bitter about the fact. "I've been working on convincing them to send out a rescue party, but Coin seems to think someone _else_ could be a better face for it." He sent Peeta a pointed look that left no question as to who that someone might be. "She says you're what we need in front of the cameras."  
  
Peeta's hands clenched around the edge of the table. They weren't going to rescue Katniss and they were trying to make it _his_ fault? No way. He was sick of being used. "Well, you can tell her I won't be standing in front of one again until Katniss is back here, safe and sound," he declared, unshakeable. He was not going to play their game anymore, not with Katniss's life on the line.  
  
Haymitch's response was a disgruntled shrug. "Already did, but I'm not as important 'round here as you think I am." He fiddled with the cap of his flask some more.  
  
Peeta looked at him, still scared, still angry. He understood not having enough power to make things happen, he understood feeling impotent, but at this point, Haymitch's excuse wasn't good enough. No excuse was good enough. Maybe the older man noticed this in his expression, because he added: "But maybe you are." Right, Peeta thought. Everybody seemed to think he was so good at convincing people. He wasn't so sure of that. But it didn't matter; he'd have to live up to that expectation this time, for Katniss.  
  
He sighed, frustrated. "Why do you even care? Shouldn't you want what the rebellion wants?" he threw back, tersely. It was all part of some master plan, right? That's what they all said. That's the only thing everybody else seemed to care about.  
  
Haymitch glowered at him, eyebrows rising up on his forehead, as if resentful of the question. "Listen here, boy: I already lost one kid this year, and may yet lose another one. Least I can do is get you two idiots out of this in one piece," he grumbled. "My death count's large enough as it is and I'm not about to carry your deaths on my conscience."  
  
Peeta thought that maybe, underneath the drunkenness and gruffness, there was something in Haymitch's words... a _tendril_ of something, perhaps... which he could recognize as genuine concern. He felt responsible for him and Katniss on some level, he realized. He was the one who got them directly involved in the rebellion, so in a way, they were also his charges. He'd been wrong about such assumptions before, but the man as much as confirmed it with his next words. "How's blondie?" he asked, tentative, almost like he was telling himself he didn't really want to know.  
  
Deflated— destroyed— Peeta pulled out a chair and sat down, telling Haymitch all about Prim's condition. He went over the surgeries, the sedation, that one time her heart stopped, the coma. Everything the doctors had said, from the extent of her injuries to them having to move her to a new room. It was that last part Haymitch commented on. "They expect survivors from Twelve," he pointed out. "Probably plenty injured people. It's been a while since they were sent out. They should be getting back soon."  
  
Peeta couldn't fathom how the man could sound so detached when talking about the destruction of his own home, _their_ home, but he figured everyone had their own way of coping. His own emotions didn't work that way, though, so after parting with Haymitch he headed down to the hangar, hoping to be there when the hovercraft arrived.  
  
When he got down there, medical personnel were already standing by, with stretchers, crash carts and other emergency instrumentation. Peeta made small talk with them, trying to gauge if they knew something about the number of survivors or how many patients they were expecting, etc. They didn't seem to know anymore than he already did. All there was to do was wait.  
  
Thankfully, it didn't take long. About fifteen minutes passed until the hangar door opened and the hovercraft began landing; ten minutes more for people to begin disembarking. The first out were, of course, those in need of medical attention. Peeta anxiously turned to look at every stretcher that was rolled past him, to see if it was someone he knew. Some he recognized, but so far no one he was particularly close to. In fact, there seemed to be very few survivors from Town.  
  
Dread was beginning to build up at the pit of his stomach. There had always been more Seam people than Town people in Twelve, but the difference in numbers seemed more extreme than usual among those coming out of the craft. It was then that he noticed a familiar blond head hurrying along with the crowd: his friend Delly Cartwright, who seemed to have her arm in a makeshift sling, and was being directed to the emergency elevators by a medical attendant.  
  
He was just about to make his way through the crowd to get to her, when he felt someone small slam into him with purpose. "Peeta! Look, Mom, it's Peeta! He's here too!" Posy Hawthorne exclaimed, excited, as she hugged him tightly.  
  
He happily patted the top of her dark head, a bit surprised by her sudden appearance. "Hey, I'm so glad you're okay," he said, sincerely relieved, as he hugged the girl back. As he raised his head he saw the entire Hawthorne family coming up to where he was. Madge Undersee was with them, as well. "I'm so glad you all got out okay."  
  
Rory was the first to reach him, just as Posy was letting go. "Prim. Did she...?" he asked, leaving the question hanging as if her being alright was too much to hope for..  
  
Peeta nodded. "She's here. In a small room beside the medical bay. Just follow the doctors." Before he could even finish speaking, Rory was already moving past him. "Rory..." Peeta called at him again. The younger man stopped, turning back to look at him, but it was obvious he would rather not waste a second. "She hasn't woken up," Peeta warned him.  
  
Rory shook his head. "But she's alive," he replied, like nothing else mattered to him. And Peeta could understand that in that moment, nothing did. The boy rushed toward the elevators.  
  
Posy ran off behind him and Hazelle paused only long enough to lay a hand on Peeta's shoulder and give him a heartfelt "thank you" before following her children. Peeta wasn't really sure what she was thanking him for: telling Rory where Prim was? Getting her out of the arena in the first place? He didn't feel like he deserved any gratitude.  
  
He didn't have any time to ponder on it, however, because that's when Gale reached him and the topic of conversation invariably shifted. "Where's Katniss?" he asked, getting straight to the point.  
  
Peeta swallowed hard. He knew what the knowledge of Katniss's capture had done— was doing— to him, and he had no doubt it would be just as hard for Gale. But he also knew how being kept in the dark felt, and he wouldn't do that to him, or anyone who cared for Katniss. They had a right to know. "We split up a couple weeks ago," he admitted, his voice low and zapped of energy. Actually saying the words out loud was making the pain sharper. "I was sent to get Prim out. The rebels had a different mission in mind for her." He took a breath. "She was captured."  
  
Madge gasped, and Peeta was about to expand on what Haymitch had explained to him before, but next thing he knew, Gale had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the nearest wall. "Gale!" came Madge's second gasp in about as many seconds. The crowd around them was startled but most of them were already too distraught to be curious, or too much in a hurry to get medical attention. From behind Gale's head he could see Vick peering in, almost as if standing on guard in case he needed to pull his older brother back.  
  
But there was no swaying Gale's anger. "You left her alone?!" he glowered down at Peeta, anger coming off of him in waves. "I let you— You were _supposed_ to watch her back, dammit, and you left her on her own?" He pulled him by the neck slightly and then pushed him back against the concrete, hard. "How could you leave her like that? What the hell, Mellark!" he growled, right in Peeta's face.  
  
Peeta said nothing, keeping his arms limp at his sides as he looked straight up at Gale's angry eyes, his jaw locked with tension. He wasn't going to duck away or ask the Seam man to talk about this calmly. He understood what Gale was feeling right now, and he understood the anger and resentment. He had a right to feel that way. Peeta felt angry at himself, too. And growing up the way he had, he could take a punch in the face if he had to. He'd dealt with worse.  
  
That's when Madge intervened again: "Okay, that's enough, you two. This isn't going to help." She attempted to get in-between them, but she wasn't very strong, and Gale's feet were set as steadily as if they were made of stone. Seeing her take a stance pulled Vick into action, too, and he moved toward Gale.  
  
"No, it's fine," Peeta let out before the boy could attempt to forcibly pull Gale off him. "He's right," he added, without dodging his gaze.  
  
This admission only seemed to make Gale even angrier. He clenched the fabric of Peeta's shirt tighter in his fists for a second, and shoved him hard against the wall again, letting go so that inertia made the jostle even harsher. Then he stalked off toward the medical bay, throwing him a dark glare that could've vaporized Peeta on the spot if glares had the ability to do such a thing. Vick was quickly at his heels.  
  
As the elevator doors closed behind them, Peeta let out a breath he felt he'd been holding in forever, and leaned against the wall, utterly defeated. He felt so weak, like he'd been completely zapped of all his energy, and the back of his head was throbbing from repeatedly bouncing against concrete.  
  
Madge approached him, looking a little pale, too (surely the news that Katniss was captured by the Capitol wasn't easy for her to hear, either). "I'm sure it wasn't your fault, Peeta," she tried to console him, but it was a weak attempt.  
  
He shook his head, his gaze low. "No, I deserve it," he confirmed. "I shouldn't have let them separate us." This was something that had been eating at him since he last saw her. He had known that night that there was something off about all of this, it all just gave him a bad feeling, but he didn't follow it through. He should've tried harder. Now he wondered if there was anything else he could've done differently, anything else that would've meant Katniss would not have been captured.  
  
Gale was right: the only reason he had gone to the Capitol in the first place was to make sure she was okay, and he had failed spectacularly. And now she could pay for his failure with her life.  
  
He looked up from the ground and towards Madge, who was standing in front of him, arms wrapped around herself. "I'm glad you're okay, too, by the way," he added, realizing belatedly that he hadn't even greeted her. She had gone through her own traumatic experience, as well; it wasn't fair to ignore that. "Listen, did— have you heard anything about... my family?"  
  
Her face fell even further, and he knew what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Peeta. They... they didn't make it," she let him know, carefully. His expression must've gone aghast, because she stretched out a hand to lay it on his shoulder. "Neither did mine. The bom— _it_... it started in Town. Very few people managed to get out in time."  
  
He covered his face with his hands, feeling tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, and slid down against the wall until he was crouching. All of them... his whole family, they were all gone? It couldn't be. Any second now, Brith would walk out of the hovercraft and give him a hard time about following a girl to the ends of the earth. Crispen would take his ear off with all the complaints about having been left to do all the work at the bakery. Even his mother's presence would be welcome at the moment, though she would only scream at him over his feelings for Katniss and the idiocy they spurred in him.  
  
But none of that would happen. They were gone now, just like his father. He didn't even get to see them one last time. And with his district completely destroyed and Prim in a coma the doctors didn't know she could come out of, he didn't know what was going to happen to him. He didn't know anything anymore.  
  
Madge moved to sit on the ground beside him, and shed quiet tears. She was crying for both of them, for both their families, and he hoped those tears meant something, because at the moment all he could think of was that he had to get Katniss back somehow. Because if she died, if he failed her again, then there would be nothing left in the world for him. Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this chapter, everyone! It's been a busy two months. February meant finals and then in March I set out to extend my outline— which, if you know me, you know it's a lot more complicated than it sounds. I've got it all rounded up to chapter 44 now, which is not the end, but a pretty big turning point and what I call "the beginning of the last stretch." I'm excited. :D
> 
> Now as for the chapter itself: CGS means "Glasgow Coma Scale" and it's a scale doctors use to measure the intensity of a coma. They basically grade three criteria according to the patient's response to stimulus: eye response (1-4), verbal response (1-5) and motor response (1-6). Then they add the three and get a number from 3 (deep coma) to 15 (fully awake person). In Prim's case, she's at 6, so she's relatively low on the scale but not quite completely unresponsive. As you may have figured, you won't be getting her PoV for a while.
> 
> I was going to have Peeta punch Haymitch like he did in the book, but then I remembered KJ had already gotten first punch and since I still feel so bad about killing off the poor kid, I let him keep that. I also considered having Gale punch Peeta. I don't know... I guess I was in a "punch-y" mood when I wrote this chapter, haha. Also, those of you who are actively looking for parallels might want to think of the surviving tributes, and how much time they spent in the arena, among others.
> 
> I'm going to be traveling over the next couple weeks so I don't know how good my internet connection will be, but keep your fingers crossed that I get the chance to write. It won't take two months, though, that's for sure! Feel free to stop by my twitter or tumblr if you'd like to see some sneak peeks (the URLs are in my profile) and please review! See y'all next time. :)


	30. Katniss: Taking Cues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 30: Taking cues..._
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
It could have been days since she was visited by President Snow. Weeks, even. Once again she had no way of telling the passage of time, and this time she was almost glad for it; she couldn't handle counting the days by the deaths of her squad members anymore. She felt horrible for thinking this way, but she was glad they were gone now. No more screams. No more torture. No more pain. It was better this way. The Capitol couldn't hurt them anymore.  
  
They hadn't hurt her either. But of course they wouldn't; they needed her to sell Snow's fallacious message to the districts, they needed her to convince them not to rebel. There was not a thing in the world she wanted to do less, but didn't know how to get out of it. She couldn't risk the President's wrath. She'd already dared too far by talking back to him, and he quickly put her in her place. It was easy for him. He held her life, and Prim's, in his hands.  
  
They wouldn't hurt her, but perhaps she could hurt herself; the thought crossed her mind several times through her captivity. Death was a better option than anything President Snow had in store for her. But then what would happen with her sister? They'd kill her, for sure. Not to mention, short of bashing her head against the concrete walls, she didn't know how she could do it. Whatever idea she came up with, they'd know, and would stop her. They were always watching.  
  
But they hardly needed to threaten her in any way, as her own mind was providing enough torture to render her nearly catatonic. With nothing to do within those four walls, and no one to talk to anymore, there was nothing for her except to think over and over about everything that had happened up until then. Most of the time she couldn't keep what little food they gave her down. She couldn't sleep. Every time she tried, Snow's snake-like eyes and cold threats to her sister and her district jolted her back to reality.  
  
Perhaps that limbo was actually shorter than it felt to her, but eventually two Peacekeepers came to get her out of lockdown. They dragged her out of the building and into a car, moving her to a different location. The place was no prison, that was for sure. She barely had time to take in the luxurious accommodations she was thrown into when three people— Capitol people, as made obvious by their exaggerated features: the green skin, the orange hair, the gold tattoos— burst into the room in a flurry of urgency.  
  
The three were professionals, sent in to prep her for the cameras. This consisted mainly of making her look like a human being after weeks of imprisonment— no easy task, she guessed, if the dismayed looks on their faces when they first saw her were any indication. "You can take the girl out of prison, but you can't take prison out of the girl," the male, Flavius, muttered, hissing out the s-sounds as he spoke.  
  
Still, they went about their assigned task with all the zest they could muster. They went through several complete hose-downs, lathering several different lotion-like substances on her (all of which she could only think of as "goop"), and then scrubbing, spraying, "exfoliating" (she didn't even know what that meant), filing and combing nails and hair respectively, and more than anything, removing all body hair except that on her head. By the time they were done with that, her entire body was sore and raw, but she knew she was in no position to complain. This was nothing. At least she hadn't been killed yet.  
  
Even the prep team appeared to be affected by the obvious tension in the room. The actions required to make her presentable were practiced motions to them, but underneath all their vapidity, there was a sense of anxiety. Surely a direct order from the President to prep a prisoner for a live TV appearance wasn't something that happened every day, and they seemed rather nervous about it. It's like they weren't sure if they should treat her like a criminal or a celebrity.  
  
It made them awkward enough to babble. They went on incessantly with that odd Capitol rhythm to their sentences, chattering about every shallow topic that crossed their minds. Katniss quickly learned to tune them out, until they hit one she didn't want to think about: Peeta's propo. It confirmed what Snow had told her— unbelievably enough, their "love story" seemed to have become the ultimate source of entertainment for Capitol audiences in a matter of just days.  
  
She had willed herself not to think about Peeta's "confession" since she was shown that video, but now she kept straying back to it. It annoyed her because out of everyone, Peeta was probably the one person in the least danger. He was with the rebels, as far as she knew, and safe. But then she felt bad because even that wasn't for certain: if that one appearance was enough to raise the alert all the way to the President, he had basically become Panem's most wanted, in one single move.  
  
He had put a target on his back for her.  
  
Or had he? She kept trying to find some ulterior motive to his actions, but nothing she came up with made sense. He did say before that he wanted to stop the Games if he could, but could Peeta Mellark really be some kind of revolutionary mind? No, that was something she associated more with people like Gale. Peeta couldn't really be in love with her, obviously. There was no way. But everything he said sounded so sincere. And it was ludicrous to her that this man, this genuinely good man, who had once given her the bread that saved her life at the cost of a beating— a truly selfless action— could now be using her name, her plight, for his own agenda.  
  
It didn't really matter. Whether he was using her or doing this _for_ her, the fact was he had helped her. And for that alone, she dreaded the idea of him being at the top of a government hit list. But the fact that she cared bothered her, too. She didn't know what was real and what wasn't real with Peeta. It confused her. Confusion led to uncertainty, and uncertainty led to hesitation. And Katniss knew, as a hunter, as a _killer_ , that one second's hesitation could be fatal. She couldn't afford to second-guess herself, not with everybody she loved in danger.  
  
She was sharply reminded of that the next time Octavia, the youngest of the three, spoke up. She said the words like her mind was somewhere else, which was not surprising to Katniss given that she had brushed the same section of her hair three times already. "You have such horribly split ends. Your sister's hair was in a much better condition. Obviously she took better care of it."  
  
The mere mention was all it took for Katniss to push herself up immediately. She moved so suddenly, she thought she might've kicked Flavius in the stomach. "Prim? You met Prim? Were you three her prep team?" she asked, on baited breath.  
  
She saw Octavia cringe, like she wasn't meant to mention Prim at all, and Venia and Flavius threw glares her way, reinforcing that idea. "Please," she begged, "I need to know if she's okay. Is she still alive? Are the Games still ongoing?" Last she heard from Plutarch Heavensbee, her sister was still alive, but who knew how many days had passed since then.  
  
The three exchanged worried glances, and she could see they were afraid of saying too much; the room they were in was probably bugged, just like every room in the Training Center had been. She was just about to insist, tell them to just nod or shake their heads if that was safer, when the door to the room opened and a man walked in. The simple lines and colors of his features and ensemble were a stark contrast to those of his fellow Capitolites. She briefly remembered him from past Games; he'd been assigned to District Twelve for a few years, but his appearances on TV weren't as frequent as the other stylists', for some reason.  
  
The prep team scattered away from her like they were a band of pigeons someone had shooed away. "She's almost ready, Cinna," Venia piped in. "I believe all that's left is one last layer of body shine."  
  
"I don't think we're going to need it, thank you," the man, Cinna, replied, with a nod in Venia's direction. "The more natural she looks, the better," he added. Katniss wasn't sure if that was meant to be an insult. He certainly didn't sound like he was being sarcastic. His voice was deep and even; it was almost calming, in comparison to the prep team's high-pitched tones.  
  
The three minions scrambled out of the room, intent on getting more supplies so they could do her hair and make-up. Before she left, however, Octavia leaned close to Katniss and whispered in her ear: "Your sister is really sweet, and beautiful, too. We really like her." With that she skittered out. Katniss felt intense appreciation for her in that moment, and for the whole of the prep team, really. Silly and superficial as they were, it was hard to hate them if they truly cared for Prim.  
  
And she had said "like." Present tense. That could mean Prim was still alive.  
  
She was left alone with Cinna. She asked him if he had styled her sister, and he assented. "I had that honor, yes," he responded. He lightly held up her jaw with his hand, inspecting her from up close. "She told me she wanted to be like you. I can already see you two are very similar." He was looking at her as she figured an artist would appraise his blank canvas. "Both survivors."  
  
That clinched it. She felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders, and she gave the man a nod— it was the only way she knew how to thank him without making it obvious to the hidden microphones that he was giving her information he shouldn't. He smiled at her. "I lit your sister up with fire," he pointed out, re-positioning strands of her hair this way or that as if he hadn't quite decided yet which style he would give her. "But something tells me flames would suit you much better."  
  
The mention of Prim's parade getup reminded her of what she was here for. She swallowed hard. "It doesn't matter if I look good," she replied, grave. And it was true: it didn't really matter what she looked like, as long as she could convince the people of the districts not to rebel. That's all Snow wanted.  
  
Cinna seemed to have a different opinion of it, however. He shook his head. "It matters that you look strong."  
  
A few hours later, she was standing in front of the mirror, completely shocked at the incredible transformation that had been achieved. She had never been one to care about her appearance— looking pretty wasn't going to put more food on their table— but it was impossible not to be impressed by this degree of change. She didn't just look pretty; she looked like a completely different person. Beautiful, absolutely radiant, in a way she never imagined she could. Surely Cinna had to be some kind of magician.  
  
Her dress was bejeweled, much like Prim's interview dress had been, except where hers was white, Katniss's was a sharp, rich red. It fit closer to the body, strapless and with a deeper neckline than Prim's had had, but the skirt flared out at her hips, with the reflective gems shimmering at the bottom in a pattern she knew would resemble flames when she moved. There was no forgetting whose sister she was.  
  
The prep team hovered near her in various degrees of excitement. Flavius looked particularly smug. Cinna, however, was looking at her with a critical eye, as if measuring critical little details that still needed to be fixed. "Amazing," he told the three, who beamed back at him. "Though I want to take a closer look at her makeup. We'll just go to the bathroom; there's better lighting there."  
  
"Let me just get the color kit—" Venia started, but Cinna interrupted her before she could rush to it.  
  
"No, that's alright," he said, with a light shake of his head. "It's just some eyeliner smudging. Nothing that can't be done with a cotton swab." Without waiting for a reply, he pulled Katniss gently by her arm and led her toward the conjoined bathroom. It was as luxurious as the room itself had been, and very large, so she waited for Cinna to tell her where it was better for her to sit.  
  
He did not point her in the direction of the best lighting. Instead, as soon as the bathroom door closed between them and the prep team, he ran around the room opening up every faucet and tap that was available. Every sink and basin, even the huge bathtub, began filling with water.  
  
She began to ask what he was doing, but he only signaled for her to be quiet for a moment, That's when she understood: he was using the noise from the water as a cover. The flowing sound reverberated through the room and it would hide his voice from any recording devices in the room. That immediately set her on edge. Whatever he had to say, it was important enough to hide from Capitol ears, which meant it was dangerous.  
  
She looked at him anxiously as he finally made his way back to her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and nudged her toward a chair. "Sit. We don't have much time," he said in a low tone, leaning close enough to her that she could hear him over the sound of all the faucets, and straight in her face so that she could read his lips if she still didn't hear him.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" she asked him before he could speak again. She didn't understand why a Capitol citizen, someone so closely involved with the Games as a stylist at that, would risk his position, his _life_ even, to give forbidden information to a known criminal.  
  
He shook his head, though that wasn't really an answer. Instead, he jumped straight into it. "Your sister's alive. The Games are over. The rebels got her out. She's in Thirteen right now." She opened her mouth to ask him something else— how did he know this, was he with the rebellion, was Prim really okay— but he interrupted her again. "There's more. We received intelligence that President Snow is about to launch a missile attack on Thirteen. It hasn't been confirmed but if it happens, it'll be _tonight_. We need to warn them but the usual means of communication won't get the message to them on time."  
  
Whatever relief she had achieved in the past few minutes flew out the window with those last few sentences. She tensed up as she remembered Snow's threats the day he visited her in her cell. Could it be true? Had the rebels really planned this whole thing only to have the President easily render it all a waste with the press of a button? Had she merely sent Prim from one certain death to another?  
  
Cinna looked at her straight in the eye. "Katniss. They _need_ to know." His green eyes bore into hers. She understood. She knew what she had to do.  
  
Once out of the bathroom, she was taken a few floors below, to the ground floor, where this charade of an intervention would be televised. The stage, she recognized: it was the same one they used for the Tribute interviews. It hit her immediately that she was back in the Tributes' Training Center, though she couldn't recognize any of the rooms she'd been in that day.  
  
The stage was lit up so brightly, it was hard to see anything beyond it, though she couldn't catch a glimpse of an audience there. She snuck a peek at the balconies on buildings surrounding the stage, and she saw that they were all filled with camera crews, even the one where the Gamemakers would usually sit as Caesar Flickerman asked the tributes questions.  
  
Speaking of Caesar Flickerman, he was standing toward the side of the stage and intensely discussing something with a man with rainbow-tinted skin— she assumed he was one of the people who would be producing this TV intervention. Caesar's hair was still lime green, and he was dressed to match, much as he had been when he interviewed Prim. He looked a little more tanned now, however, to the point the contrast with his bright hair made his skin look almost orange. Apparently even during the Games he could get some time off to spray tan.  
  
Before she was ready— as if she could ever be ready for this— Caesar walked off to get his microphone on and rainbow guy was hurrying toward her. "Okay, you're going to sit there and Caesar is going to ask you questions. Just let him lead, less chance of you messing it up that way." She had no idea how to even reply to this man, she was pulled in so many different directions, so in the end she only scowled at him. Not that it mattered, as he waved her off and walked away without even bothering to see her reaction.  
  
Next thing she knew, she was being pushed, almost tripping over her own feet ( _thanks for the heels, Cinna_ ), toward the chair rainbow man had just pointed her to. A group of people started fussing over her, flashing even brighter lights at her face and then measuring _something_ with some odd rectangular clickers.  
  
She tried to ignore them, to ignore it all, retreat into herself— it was the only way she could even dream of pulling this off— and then when she raised her eyes again, there he was, where Caesar had just been standing a minute ago: President Snow himself, his dark eyes fixed on her, as if daring her to step one toe out of line. She tried to swallow, but her throat was suddenly dry.  
  
She was so caught up on his chilling presence, she didn't even notice Caesar had sat down on the chair next to hers and had started asking her questions. "...Katniss?"  
  
She snapped her gaze in his direction. "I— What?"  
  
"I asked if it would be okay for me to call you Katniss," Caesar repeated, with patience. He sounded graver than he usually did in the tribute interviews, but again, these were very particular circumstances. "She might be a little nervous," he started, almost jokingly but not quite breaking his serious semblance. He wasn't talking to her, but somewhere toward the front of the stage. "It's not every day one can be seen on every television screen in the country."  
  
She looked in the direction he was looking and found herself facing dozens of cameras, all of them pointed straight in her direction. It was instantly overwhelming. Every single person in Panem was seeing her make a fool of herself right at that moment.  
  
Right in front of the stage, a couple of steps away from the gaggle of producers and/or technical crew, was Cinna. He had probably been allowed there in case something went wrong with her dress or her hair. She didn't care about either, but his presence gave her a brief sense of relief— she wasn't completely alone in this madhouse. He nodded at her, as if telling her: _You can do this_. It helped.  
  
Doing her best to swallow her hesitation, she answered Caesar's question: "No, I don't— I don't mind."  
  
"Very well, then," Caesar replied, lightly patting the armrest of his chair as if in assent."Katniss, you have become quite the household name lately. It's nice to finally get to talk to you." He paused, as if waiting for her to say something. She had no idea what he expected to hear. Should she agree? Nod? "Now, what many people don't know," he started again, quickly trying to cover up her unresponsiveness, "is that you have been in prison for the past few weeks..."  
  
She froze, caught off-guard. She didn't expect Snow to want to reveal that part. Once again Caesar rushed to fill the silence, leading her in the right direction, much like rainbow man had said he would. "...On charges of unlawful migration outside your district borders. Is that correct?"  
  
He was basically telling people she'd been thrown in jail only for leaving Twelve to come to the Capitol. No mention of her killing Seneca Crane; obviously _that_ one detail they meant to keep hidden. Having no choice but to go with it, she nodded.  
  
"This was after your sister, Primrose, as we all know, was reaped as a tribute for the 79th Hunger Games." It was more a statement than a question, but she nodded again. "Why did you feel the need to follow your sister to the Capitol?" he asked at her response. "I had the chance to interview her, and she seemed like a very smart, capable girl. Were you worried she wouldn't properly represent your district in the Games?"  
  
She bristled (on the inside) at the mere suggestion. Just the idea that she may be disappointed with Prim's abilities like performing well in the Games was some sort of dignified ideal, when in reality all she wanted was to save her baby sister's life. These people had no business knowing anything about her life; they'd already taken her freedom, her sister's innocence, her squad mates' lives, and they might yet take hers— she wasn't going to let them have _anything_ else. But she couldn't just let everyone think she was disappointed in Prim. She could never be. Prim was everything to her.  
  
"No. Prim is... she's amazing," she started, wanting him and everyone to know what an amazing person Prim was, and it had nothing to do with any "honor" the Capitol had bestowed on her. "She's the smartest, sweetest person you'll ever meet. She never lets anything bring her down. I knew she'd try her hardest, and I will _always_ be proud of her for that. I just..." She took a deep breath, trying to think of a way to state her motivation without sounding like she was blaming the Capitol; she could see Peacekeepers standing to the right and it wouldn't do to get herself shot. "...I just wanted to help her, somehow."  
  
"A noble ideal, certainly," he commented, sounding solemn. "Unfortunately leaving your district without a Capitol sanction is, regardless, very much illegal." She had to try very hard not to glare at him. Was this what Snow intended with this charade, to mock her in front of the whole country? It would be one way to damage the credibility of the rebels. Raising her eyes she looked behind Caesar, and found the President's gaze still fixed on her, his expression steely.  
  
Caesar wasn't done speaking, however. "If I'm honest, Katniss, I'd say your words are very much along the lines of something your husband said, in his televised interview a few weeks back," he pointed out, like Peeta's interview was just another TV special in the Capitol's regular programming, nothing else. "You have seen that clip, correct?"  
  
Somewhat shakily, she nodded. She knew Caesar would touch upon Peeta's propo, since that was precisely what Snow wanted her to discredit, but irrationally she'd been hoping against hope he wouldn't. Somehow acknowledging it and talking about it made it feel more real. Caesar smiled at her for the first time since their interview began— a smile designed to make him seem sympathetic. "The Capitol audiences are quite enamored with him, you know," he added, as if it was some big secret. "He must love you a lot."  
  
He might. She wished he didn't. "I... I guess," she replied, her throat so dry, she might as well have swallowed a spoonful of sand.  
  
"Oh, anyone with eyes could see that he adores you," Caesar added, and it was like he was pouring salt on an open wound. She'd always thought Capitol people were silly, flighty, and could never see anything past their own noses. But was _she_ the one who was completely blind? Had they seen something in Peeta she'd somehow missed this whole time? "As romantic it was, there was more to his story than just his love for you," Caesar continued. "I'm sure we all saw it. I'm sorry, Katniss, but I must call things as they are: your husband was sending a rebellious message."  
  
Again, it was surprising that they would admit this, but probably things were too far gone now for them to even attempt to deny it; there was no credible excuse they could make for the way the Games ended. "Now, being his wife, you probably know Peeta better than anyone." Except she wasn't, and she didn't. "What do you think might've been his reasons for doing this?"  
  
She couldn't know his motivation, or perhaps she didn't even want to know, but she knew whatever it was, he felt he was doing the right thing. Because he was a good person that way. And so she answered Caesar's question with what she knew for certain was true. "It wasn't his fault!" she blurted out, an edge of desperation to her words. "He's not a rebel. They're using him— they're using him and it's all my fault, because I was the one who insisted we come here."  
  
"Because you wanted to help your sister," Caesar once again interjected, making it more of a statement than a question.  
  
"I thought I could save her," she went on, the words coming faster and faster the more agitated she got, "but I got wrapped up in this whole thing, this rebellion. And in the end I couldn't be there for her."  
  
"Surely you must know by now that the Games were... interrupted," Caesar acknowledged, carefully. In the small television screens that were at the front edge of the stage, she could see the transmission cut to scenes of the day the rebels stormed the arena. She saw Prim slamming a weapon against a translucent patch of something like a force field, and then it was like the entire arena exploded. Then the rebels started going in. She caught a glimpse of Peeta, the mentor from Eleven, and even Finnick Odair. They were easily recognizable. Victors turning their back on the Capitol... must have been quite the scandal.  
  
"Your sister is out of the arena now," Caesar continued his train of thought, clearly used to letting the producers do their thing. She noticed he never said _exactly_ where Prim was, even though they certainly knew. "Do you believe everything you went through was worth it?"  
  
The fact that they still refused to acknowledge the existence of Thirteen made her angry. Of course they'd want to keep it under wraps: there was little a small band of rebels could do against a powerful, oppressive entity as the Capitol, but the knowledge that there was the structure of an entire district behind this revolution, an entire district that not only was outside Capitol control and as such free to amass as much military power as they desired, but also a district that had already survived the Capitol's force once, could give the other districts an entity to band around against their common enemy. It was the last thing the Capitol wanted to happen.  
  
She couldn't care less what they were afraid would happen. It was disgusting to act as though the brutal murder of six good soldiers was something they could simply swipe under the rug. She shook her head emphatically, though it wasn't a direct answer to his question. "I won't answer that until I get to see my sister and my husband again," she stated, her words unintentionally clipped.  
  
She saw Snow narrow his eyes at her, and she knew he'd caught her disgust. She couldn't afford to mess this up. "I just... None of this is what I wanted," she attempted. She still sounded snippy, but she hoped it came across as anxiety. Anxiety was understandable; anger was seditious. "I was desperate; all I wanted was to get my sister back. I didn't mean to get caught up in a war." She recited, much like Snow had instructed her to. That part was true. But that didn't mean she thought the uprising should be quenched.  
  
"What are you saying, Katniss?" Caesar asked, springing forward in his chair like he had just latched onto an especially juicy scoop. "Are you saying this conflict is pointless? That you believe the districts should not get involved in these attempts at rebellion?"  
  
She saw his clear attempt to direct her in a particular direction— the direction Snow wanted— but she wasn't going to let him lead anymore. She was done playing the Capitol's game. She had a message to get across. But how? She didn't know how to get people's attention. She was terrified of saying something wrong that would either get her killed or harm the people in the districts and Thirteen even further. She didn't have a way with words, not like Peeta did.  
  
The only thing she could think to do was take her cues from Peeta: remind people what they were fighting for. "What I'm saying is," she started, trying to channel all her anger and fear into determination, a sense of confidence she didn't really feel, "that I was afraid this fight would take everything I love away from me, but I've realized they're what makes me keep going. And so should you!"  
  
She stood up. She could see the producers and cameramen around the stage growing agitated, flittering back and forth as if discussing amongst each other what they should do with this decidedly off-script turn. The President had no such qualms: as she continued speaking, he was already signaling to the assistants to call for the Peacekeepers standing guard by the entrance door.  
  
It only spurred her to speak louder and faster, the words pouring out of her mouth almost without conscious intent, only pure feeling. She had to get this out. "If we stand together, we can be the fire they can't quell! People of the districts, people of Thirteen, you must fight!" The producers were screaming at each other now. Caesar sprung up from his chair and ran to the side of the stage, eager to get away from the confrontation that was surely coming.  
  
This was the breaking point: she had revealed to the entirety of Panem the one secret the Capitol was most intent on hiding. But she couldn't falter now: there was one more thing she needed to say. "No matter how many missiles they throw your way tonight, you have to keep fighting—!" That was the straw that broke Snow's cool façade: for once looking urgently irate, he grabbed one of the flabbergasted producers roughly by the arm and barked at him to "End it!" just as two Peacekeepers rushed in and grabbed Katniss, interrupting her words.  
  
As they dragged her offstage, she squirmed to turn her head and locked eyes with Cinna. Then one of the men who were holding her had enough of her struggling and hit her hard on the back of her head with what she imagined was the butt of a pistol. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was two more Peacekeepers bashing Cinna's head in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it didn't take two months, but the wait wasn't as short as I'd initially intended it to be. Sorry about that! Chapter 35 grew into an 8K words monster before I even noticed, and that's why this took so long. But I hope it was worth the wait! As you can see, stuff (not necessarily _good_ stuff, but stuff) is happening.
> 
> I hope you're enjoying the parallels I'm going through here, and I hope you look forward to how these events will be similar AND different from the way things happened in the books. We'll be back to Thirteen next chapter, to see the repercussions of Katniss's message, so stay tuned!
> 
> Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, kudos and just the support you all have given this story. It means the world to me, and I hope I keep hearing from all of you as we go along, because it truly helps me so much. Also, sometimes I post sneak peeks of future chapters in my tumblr and twitter, so if you want to get some hints as to what's coming up, that's where you should start looking! The URLs are in my profile. See y'all next time! :)


	31. Peeta: ...From The People You Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 31: ...From the people you love_
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
"No, no, no, no, oh please no, no, Katniss, no..."  
  
Peeta was unaware that he was muttering incessantly as he pushed people out of his way as he made a run to the monitor, like somehow he could get to her, reach out and grab her right through the screen, and get her out of that wretched place and to safety.  
  
When the transmission first came on air, all he could feel was relief. She was still alive. Still a prisoner, in a sense, though the red dress, the make-up and the updo might suggest otherwise. She looked absolutely beautiful, and it took his breath away for a moment, but as soon as the interview started it was quite obvious they were only keeping her healthy as a façade, so she could deliver a message. The Capitol's message. She was still trapped.  
  
Someone like Katniss didn't take well to being trapped. And now, as a consequence of her disobedience, her blood was spattered on the tiles of the interview stage, in a mind-numbing, abstract pattern that would haunt Peeta's dreams for the rest of his life.  
  
The entire room buzzed around him, in an uproar about the significance of Katniss's cryptic warning, instead of what they _should_ be discussing, which was Katniss herself. Did nobody else care what happened to her? Maybe only he did, his eyes glued to the monitor in front of him, which was no longer showing any images, just static.  
  
"Would you people just _shut up_!" Haymitch finally intervened, his voice ringing louder than the rest. The arguments quieted as everybody turned to look at him. "That girl couldn't come up with a riddle if you paid her. What she said is just what's going to happen: they're sending missiles our way. Tonight."  
  
Objections started popping up left and right: How could she know this? She'd been under Capitol hold for weeks, why should they trust what she said? Haymitch glared at the jerk who had piped up that last one. "Right, 'cause she _wanted_ to get beaten up. She did it just for kicks," he replied, his tone as venomous as Peeta had ever heard it. "She put her neck on the line to tell us about this, and you need more proof than that? Boy, back me up on this one."  
  
Everybody turned to look at Peeta then, but for once in his life, he found he couldn't say anything. It was like every possible answer had evaporated right out of his brain, as his mind was too busy replaying over, and over, and over again the moment that Peacekeeper hit Katniss on the back of her head.  
  
"She wouldn't have said it if she didn't believe it was true," came the assertion from behind him, and it was only then that Peeta was able to pry his eyes away from the screen to look back at Gale, who was standing just a few paces behind him, and looked just as shook up as Peeta felt.  
  
The Seam man wasn't really supposed to be in the Command room. From training he knew Gale had something of a status among the low-level military ranks, for the way he had basically led the escape out of a bombed Twelve— surviving in the forest on your own for three days was no easy feat, let alone keeping 800 plus people alive for the same period of time— but even that wasn't enough to get him a place in Command. It was only until Peeta put his foot down and declared that if he had to be present, Gale should be as well, that they grudgingly allowed him to be involved. He thought Gale might not be particularly happy with him for doing that, but Peeta was glad they acquiesced; they needed more people who cared about Katniss in these meetings.  
  
"There you go," Haymitch spoke up again, on the heels of Gale's intervention. "Now would you listen to the people who actually know the girl? Let's do this, it's not like we have all the time in the world."  
  
The focus of the room shifted to President Coin, every single soldier within those four walls awaiting her orders. "We do have an evacuation procedure set up for such cases," the President began, sounding more like she was perplexed about the possibility of an attack rather than worried about it. "Still, our strategists have worked for decades creating such scenarios, and we have long concluded that it would be counterproductive for the Capitol to attack us directly. Nuclear weaponry is heavily damaging to the environment and would render the land completely unusable, and even regular missiles could cause major damage to our underground structure, which we know the Capitol intends to keep for their own use."  
  
Peeta simply stared at her; it was like someone had hit the mute button on her, her lips were moving but no sound came out— none he could understand, anyway. There was something about that woman that just didn't sit well with him. How could she be standing there, calmly discussing their _options_ when Katniss had warned them they were just about to be attacked?  
  
Haymitch seemed to agree with him. "Well, maybe they're gonna cut their losses," he all but interrupted her; not abruptly, but he did stop her tirade. "Decided it would be easier to simply blow us off the map and use this land to make a second rose garden for Snow. You know how he loves those."  
  
Either the intricacies of his sarcasm were lost on Coin, or she simply ignored him deftly. "Well, if nothing happens we could always take this as a drill," she stated, final, as she raised her hand to type on the keyboard of her communicuff. "Let's proceed with the evacuation."  
  
No sooner did she stop typing, the alarm system started going off. The sound was so loud it made his skin crawl, and Peeta's first instinct was to cover his ears as did everybody who wasn't used to it— he could only imagine how desensitized everyone in Thirteen had to be to these drills if they could walk down to the bunkers in an orderly fashion, as their highly-detailed safety protocols indicated.  
  
As the exodus started, Peeta felt someone haul him to his feet unceremoniously and push him in the direction of the exit. He thought it might've been Haymitch, but he couldn't see him as the throng of people moved out of the room. He saw Gale pass by him without a comment while they were going down the corridors— probably to make sure his family evacuated on time. It was only as he was halfway down the tunnels that he realized he hadn't seen Finnick, who had been standing near him while Katniss's interview aired, exit the room at all.  
  
He turned on his heels— rather abruptly as the movement of people around him jostled him and the blaring of the alarm was already making him dizzy— and pushed through the crowd to get back to Command. Finnick hadn't been the same since they came back from their mission and they found out that the day of the bombing of Twelve, riots broke out in three other districts, one of them being Four. The Capitol, not taking that well after their prized Victor Finnick Odair publicly betrayed them, retaliated all-out. Even those not directly involved with the riots were punished. This included Finnick's girlfriend, Annie, who was taken prisoner, and his mentor from the Games, Mags, whose whereabouts were unknown at the moment.  
  
Finnick seemed pretty certain Mags was dead. If they managed to get Annie, he had told Peeta that day, his throat raw from grief, that meant Mags was dead.  
  
Since that day, they came to see a whole different side of Finnick. Gone was the flirty, confident, jovial man who always had a teasing or suggestive comment to make. He was replaced by a quiet, broken shell of a person who always seemed to have too many worries weighing him down. He had clearly cared deeply about his mentor, and her death was a crippling blow; as it was, he was barely hanging on to the hope that the girl he loved might still be alive. Sadly, that was a feeling Peeta could empathize with. And because of that, he worried. If even someone like Finnick felt like giving up, how should _he_ feel?  
  
He had to find Finnick and get him to the bunkers.  
  
That was easier said than done. Going against the crowd was a lot more difficult than going along with it, though as he got back to the upper levels there was hardly any people walking around. (One thing he had to admit about Thirteen: they had procedures for _everything_ , but they were very effective). He ran all the way up to Command, and that's where he found his bronze-haired fellow rebel, sitting against a wall in-between two chairs. It's a wonder nobody saw him before and forced him to evacuate. "Finnick! What are you still doing here? We have to evacuate!"  
  
It was like his words didn't get through; Finnick seemed to be in some sort of shock. Peeta wasn't about to wait for him to react. "Come on, man! Don't do this, we don't have time for this," he said as he roughly pulled him to his feet and pushed him toward the door.  
  
"She's probably dead," Finnick said, and for a second Peeta's heart stopped because he thought he was talking about Katniss. But he wasn't. "Annie," he all but coughed out, stumbling from Peeta's prodding to keep walking. "She's probably dead."  
  
"She's not dead," Peeta asserted back at him, sounding more certain than he truly felt after watching Katniss be knocked out on live television, as he pushed him forward with a steady hand between his shoulder blades. "They're not dead, and you have to stop thinking that way because you have to help me convince these people to rescue them."  
  
It was easier to transit through the corridors now that they were mostly empty of people. The alarms kept blaring and lights kept blinking at them, letting them know which way to go, until they finally saw the heavy, reinforced door to the bunker, which Peeta recognized from previous, low-level drills. The door was about to close. "We'll finish this conversation later. Now we have to move!" One feet. Maybe a few inches to go. He gave Finnick one last shove as the door was about to close, and the guy just managed to stick an arm through the crack just before it closed. The guards who were in charge of closing the doors were understanding enough to reverse the wheels for a moment and let them in.  
  
Once inside, Peeta intended to go find Prim, see if the sudden move had any adverse effects on her, but the guards instructed them to find their assigned quarters depending on what compartment they lived in on the top levels. These quarters were nothing more than a twelve-by-twelve square on the ground with two beds carved into the wall of the cave. Usually they were assigned per family, four to five people maximum, and since Peeta's "family" (that is, Katniss and Prim) was not present, he figured he would get a space all on his own. He knew Finnick had an individual compartment, so maybe he'd invite him to stay with him, so he wouldn't have to spend hours, maybe even days, with a bunch of randomly-assigned strangers in his current state.  
  
Before he could ask Finnick to follow him, however, he caught sight of Madge waving him over; she was with Gale, in a site marked with the number 47. "How come you guys are sharing a space?" he asked when he reached them, pulling Finnick along. "Where's Gale's family?"  
  
"They're with Prim," Madge explained. Gale was busy reading the plasticized sheet of instructions every bunker space got. "Rory wouldn't leave her, so Hazelle and the kids decided to stay there with him. I'm gonna stay here with Gale in the meantime. I don't really feel like sharing with people I don't know, especially not right now when Katniss might be..." Clearly, Gale had already told her about what they saw in Command, so she cut herself off, thinking she might upset him. "I'm sorry."  
  
"It's... it's okay," he let her know, though, honestly, even if she didn't bring the topic of Katniss up, there was little he could do to _stop_ thinking about it. "Do you know if Prim's alright? There weren't any complications when they moved her? I was worried, since she's hooked up to all those machines..."  
  
"As far as I know, she's alright. The doctors know what they're doing," she replied, trying to sound reassuring. "You should stay here with us. Without Hazelle and the kids now we have extra space," she added, looking behind him and at Finnick too, as if extending the invitation to him as well.  
  
Peeta was about to point out what a bad idea that was, he and Gale being at all in the same place, especially in such confined space, and he would've thought Gale would object to the suggestion, but there was no chance for him to complain, as that was when the first bomb hit, and they had no choice but to pile up in the tiny space that had once been reserved for the Hawthornes. Gale clearly wasn't happy to have Peeta's presence forced on him, but they had bigger things to worry about, and even after the bombing was over, the only thing that really mattered to either of them was Katniss, and that rendered all of Gale's grudges against him completely inconsequential at the moment.  
  
There wasn't much conversation after that. Straight on the heels of the explosion and the cracking sound of rock and metal being hit right above their heads, came the sound of every single person gasping, and then eerie silence. Everybody was waiting on baited breath to see if the bunker would hold on, or if the entire structure would collapse on top of them. The fear of being buried alive was very real, Peeta thought, as he looked around the place into the scared faces of children as well as adults.  
  
"It seems like it's going to hold up," Madge commented a few minutes later, in a whisper, almost like she didn't want to jinx it. "Maybe we're too far down underground, the bombs aren't as effective." She bit her lip like she was aware this was just wishful thinking on her part, but still wanted to try and believe it.  
  
Gale shook his head, intervening for the first time since they left Command. "They have special missiles for that. They taught us in training how they work. Specifically made to attack bunkers." Peeta couldn't remember ever hearing about such a thing, but clearly Gale was more invested in their military training than he was. He only went through with it because Thirteen made it mandatory for currently unassigned citizens to be army reserves. He wasn't a fighter, he didn't want to learn how to use weapons to kill people, but he didn't want to be left out of any possible plans to rescue Katniss from the Capitol; he wouldn't let himself be sidelined anymore.  
  
In reality, however, he'd be much more comfortable if he could be assigned to the kitchens. The only person who would let him in there, though, was an old lady from the Seam called Sae, who was nice enough to let him help with a few loaves of bread every once in a while. It relaxed him. But even baking wasn't the same as it had been back home.  
  
Madge's expression fell, and Gale noticed. "But one is probably not enough to bring down a place like this," he added, apparently realizing he was bringing everyone down. "It really depends on how many they shoot at us," he tried to fix his slip-up, but it was a weak attempt, especially considering all the practice he must have had with his younger siblings. More bombs falling on them wasn't exactly an appealing prospect for anyone, but they were all adults here: they had to deal with the truth, and the fear.  
  
Eventually, they drifted off into silence again. It wasn't until some ten minutes later that they finally got news, when President Coin's voice came up through the loudspeakers, announcing that the first missile was not nuclear, but they were indeed expecting more. Thankfully the structure had held up as planned, and everybody was evacuated on time, for which they owed Katniss Mellark a "great debt of gratitude."  
  
They sat there for hours on end. They were given clearance to go in groups to the bathroom or to wash their teeth, but with the threat of further attack incoming, very few people actually wanted to move from their place. Madge got one of the bunks and the three guys agreed to switch the other one, but none of them really slept, not when an explosion rocked the bunker every few hours; just as they managed to lull themselves into a false sense of security, the Capitol's bombs would blast them hard enough to shatter that illusion.  
  
Madge made light conversation with him, sometimes also with Gale, mostly about trivial topics like their training, whether or not having Buttercup (whom Posy wouldn't let go of through the whole evacuation) near the medical bay patients was a good idea or not, or just about life in Thirteen. Peeta asked her about a book she carried with her, and she explained it was a training manual for her new job with the scheduling department.  
  
"Apparently I'm good with schedules," she quipped, and shared a look with Gale; Peeta got the distinct feeling he had missed something there, like an inside joke he wasn't privy to. He wondered what was going on between them; he didn't think they were even friends before he left Twelve. Finnick kept quiet, leaning his back against the edge of a bed, as he played with his piece of rope, tangling it and untangling it back and forth.  
  
The guards weren't too happy they didn't follow the assigned space arrangement. They really took that seriously, and at points Peeta worried they might actually be punished for not following orders. There was that one time Johanna Mason (the mentor from District Seven who had arrived at Thirteen with Plutarch Heavensbee and the rest of the rebel Victors the day after the rescue from the arena) walked by on her way to the bathroom and accused them of cheating. The bombing certainly wasn't doing much to improve her already bad mood.  
  
"Tell me, Sarge, do these four look like they're related?" she asked one of the guards who were standing nearby. If she had to share a space with a man who had a nervous bowel problem, she said, she wasn't about to let these four have it so easy.  
  
Peeta looked at his temporary "roommates." He and Madge at least had the same general coloring, what with the blonde hair and the blue eyes, but there was no way anyone would buy that Gale and Finnick were related to them. "Sure we are," he piped up, in the first burst of humor he felt since... forever, it seemed. "I'm Vick Hawthorne. This is Posy," he added, pointing at Madge, "and that one in the back is Rory," he pointed his thumb back at Finnick. "Our names should be listed for this space."  
  
The guard gave them the stink-eye, obviously knowing they were lying, but did not say anything apart from that, continuing his patrol a few yards away from them. Johanna snorted. "I don't know what it is about you, Mellark," she said, with a roll of her eyes. "Maybe you can do some sort of mind trick on them, or maybe people are just that stupid." Her tone was still dry, but she seemed considerably more amused than she had been before.  
  
She swept her eyes over the four of them again. "So. That was quite the production the Missus put on back there," she said, in Peeta's direction, as she crossed her arms haughtily. She clearly did not have the same reservations Madge had when it came to bringing up the topic of what happened with Katniss. "Snow's not going to be happy with that stunt she just pulled."  
  
"Jo, don't," Finnick piped in from the back, throwing Johanna a warning glance. It was the first time he spoke since leaving the upper levels.  
  
Gale's usual scowl grew more pronounced, like he was personally offended by the implications behind the brown-haired woman's words. "She did it to save us!" he exclaimed.  
  
"And she'll probably get killed for it," she shot back straight away. It turned into some kind of staring contest, in which Gale made his glare darker and darker by the second, and Johanna brushed it off like people snapping at her was a common occurrence. Finally, she let out an overly-dramatic resigned sigh. "Look, don't get your tighty-whities in a bunch, gorgeous."  
  
By that point even Madge was frowning at her. "Gorgeous?" he heard his fellow Town resident mutter under her breath.  
  
One thing was for certain: Johanna definitely had a knack for irritating people, and she was used to the adverse reactions. "It's not that I wish death on her or anything," she continued speaking. "I really don't care one way or the other, to be honest," she interjected with a dismissive shrug that made them all just a tiny bit more annoyed. "I'm just saying, it wouldn't do you any harm to be prepared for the worst."  
  
"Snow won't kill them," Finnick intervened again, surprising Peeta. Just a few hours ago he'd been terrified at the idea that Annie might already be dead, and now he seemed convinced both her and Katniss still had a chance. Why the sudden change of heart? He noticed the blond's gaze on him and gave him a nod. Maybe it was some sort of apology for his earlier behavior?  
  
Peeta let the man speak. He seemed to have things he needed to get out of his chest. "Now that I've thought about it, I really don't believe Snow would kill Katniss or Annie, even now," he continued. "He doesn't only want to stop the rebellion; he wants to crush us. He won't get rid of them if he can still use them against us."  
  
The crease in Gale's brow remained, though now he looked more unsettled than angry. "You saw what Katniss did today. She's not going to do anything they want her to do," he pointed out.  
  
"I didn't say she would," Finnick conceded. "But as long as they have her, they can hurt us." He took a deep breath, as if even he didn't want to hear what he was about to say. "And there's one thing Johanna's right about: we should prepare for the worst. Only..." Finnick looked at him in silence for a few seconds, then moved his gaze to the length of rope he held in his lap. He shook his head. "...The worst might not necessarily mean death."  
  
Those words haunted Peeta for the next three days. Suddenly his nightmares of Katniss dying were replaced by countless images of her being beaten, poisoned, tortured or raped. He was making himself sick with each thought. Thankfully his bunker companions seemed as distraught as he was, so they didn't think twice about it when he stayed awake for the most part of 72 hours. It wasn't like any of them could get much sleep anyway, what with the bombs still coming periodically.  
  
Several times he tried to ask Finnick what he meant by "something worse than death." Perhaps he was trying to convince himself that he was wrong about his assumptions, that his fear was fueling his imagination to come up with scenarios far worse than reality. But the most Finnick would tell him was "you don't want to know, Peeta," and eventually he stopped asking.  
  
It was only until 24 hours passed without another bomb that they were finally given free reign to leave the bunker and go back to the upper levels— what remained of them, anyway. Some were completely destroyed, condemned, or closed pending repairs. Most people flooded out of the underground shelter intending to check on their compartments, see if their living quarters were still standing, or whether they would be relocated to a different block. Peeta didn't even bother, though. There was something else he needed to do.  
  
There was one thing he'd been noticing since he arrived at Thirteen, and every time it happened while down at the bunker, it stayed with him. The fact was: the people of Thirteen looked at him like he was some sort of celebrity. Before, he had attributed it to them being shocked to see "the guy in the propo" just walking around the district. But it was only after four days of not being able to brush the glances off, that it hit him: these people were looking at him with sadness, maybe pity— their expressions would turn downcast and solemn whenever they walked by him. Some nodded at him, even waved. A little girl asked him when "Kabniss" was going to "come back home." These people were _invested_ in his story.  
  
Haymitch had hinted before that maybe the sympathy people had toward him gave more leverage over Thirteen Command than he thought he had. Up until then, Peeta hadn't believed it— getting waved off every time he tried to convince anyone to send out a rescue party for Katniss wasn't exactly what he called progress. But seeing the people so obviously moved by his words, by Katniss's words, it gave him an idea. It was crazy and he didn't know what the consequences of such an action would be, but at the moment he was part caring. At least there was still a chip he could bargain with.  
  
So they wanted him to manipulate people? Fine. If it helped Katniss in any way, he would. And he would start with Coin herself.  
  
His steps were fueled by determination as they took him straight from the bunker to Command. His voice did not falter as he walked toward Coin, at the moment surrounded by a group of people who seemed to be safety inspectors, and demanded to be allowed to film a second propo.  
  
She remained impassive, and he wondered if there was anything that could shake the woman. She didn't question his motives, or even called him out on his previous declaration that he wouldn't stand in front of a camera until they had Katniss back safely. She merely commented that they had been contemplating that very idea recently: a propo as a way to announce that Thirteen had survived the Capitol's bombing. She told him she would coordinate matters with Plutarch and let him know when logistics were finalized.  
  
And so later that afternoon, he found himself sitting in front of Cressida again, Castor's camera aimed straight at him, for a second "interview"-type propo. The first one had worked so well, after all, Plutarch had said. Why change it? This time, it wasn't only the three of them: they were surrounded by people— higher-ups from Thirteen, Plutarch himself, Haymitch and Finnick, a few production assistants... it was quite the crowd. "So, Peeta," Cressida started, trying to get him to focus on her questions. "How did you feel when you saw Katniss during that interview?"  
  
He took a deep breath, trying to get himself ready for this. Cressida's gaze reiterated her earlier words, that he should just answer her questions honestly and it would be fine. He was trying. He just had so many feelings, he was afraid if he spoke the words out loud it would threaten to choke him. "I was... relieved that she was still alive. Proud that she's still fighting." He paused, and swallowed hard. "But then, when they obviously hurt her... I just felt completely terrified."  
  
"I'm sure that was especially hard for you." Cressida gave him a small, supportive smile, which the camera wouldn't catch but he appreciated it nonetheless. "But surely she's alright. She's strong. You said it yourself last time," she reminded him.  
  
"She _is_ strong. I know that." How could he ever forget that, if it was one of the qualities that made him fall in love with her in the first place? "We're looking for her," he added. They weren't, of course, but giving the Capitol something to feel intimidated about was never a bad thing. Not to mention it put just a little more pressure on Coin, at the same time. "She could hang in there just a little longer, I know she could..."  
  
He trailed off into a pause, knowing it was the make or break moment. This was it. "...It's the baby I'm worried about," he declared darkly.  
  
He just happened to raise his eyes from the camera at that moment, and saw jaws dropping all over the place. Plutarch's assistant, Fulvia, let out a gasp. Messalla dropped the clipboard he was holding in his hands. Haymitch's eyebrows rose so far on his forehead, they almost blended with his hair. Peeta swallowed hard.  
  
Even Cressida was shocked by his unexpected announcement, but remembering she was on air, she recovered quickly, snapping back into professional mode. "That's... that's certainly something to worry about," she said, after clearing her throat. She looked around and at Plutarch, raising a brow at him as if asking what to do now. Plutarch signaled for her to continue as planned. "I would congratulate you," she continued, turning back to Peeta once again, "but under the circumstances..."  
  
"It's okay," he replied, his voice thick. His statement might've been a lie, but the emotion in his words wasn't entirely faked. He hoped this would help Katniss. It had to.  
  
"Is there anything else you would like to tell us?" Cressida asked, expectant, and he recognized that as his cue to say what Coin wanted him to say. To let the Capitol and the districts that Thirteen was not destroyed, that they were still alive, and still fighting.  
  
"No," he sentenced, final.  
  
Hastily getting up, he took strides as lengthy as he could past the circle of people surrounding them, and out the double doors. The cameras were still rolling. He didn't look back. He knew the people in the districts could figure things out well enough just by the propo alone. He wasn't going to give Coin and her cohorts anything more than they deserved. Not until Katniss was safe, and back where she belonged.  
  
Even Plutarch was too stunned to ask him to come back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by the never-ending line at Berlin's Foreigners' Office! Yay! \o/ (...not).
> 
> I keep apologizing— it's annoying, I know— but I really am sorry this took longer than expected; writing chapter 36 was like pulling teeth. I started writing way late because I had exams, and then after that I was hit with major writer's block. I was way too mentally dead to write, plot bunnies kept biting at my ankles, and adding that the chapter is mostly angsty didn't help matters.
> 
> Chapter 37 is slightly better fleshed out in my outline, so I'll try my best to get it done soon-ish. I can't promise anything, though, because I'm also going to start on a new fic, so I'll be juggling two plotlines at the same time and that's always complicated. On the other hand, though, the semester ends on July 19th, and after that I'll be blissfully free until October, so I aim to pump as many chapters of this story out as I can during summer break. I won't be posting the other fic until I have it written in its entirety, but in any case you might want to stay tuned! Hint, hint.
> 
> As for this chapter, what did you think of Peeta taking a stand? I wanted to show his emotional strength in adversity, and I hope that came across. I'd love to know what you thought, so please review! Your comments always help me so much. Also, I'm on tumblr (girls-are-weird) and twitter (girls_are_weird), and I post occasional snippets from future chapters over there, so be sure to follow me if you want to have an idea of what's coming up! Thanks so much for reading. :)


	32. Gale: Grudging Empathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 32: Grudging empathy_
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
"...It's the baby I'm worried about."  
  
No sooner were the words out of Mellark's mouth, was Gale already springing up from his chair and stalking out of the room. He was in the dining hall, having lunch with his family for once, as training had not yet re-started since the Capitol's attack. He hadn't been expecting a propo to air while he was eating his porridge, let alone that Mellark would have a bomb of his own to drop.  
  
His jaw clenched tightly. That interview was part of the rebellion's plans and by all means he shouldn't have any reason to disagree with it, but the familiar anger and frustration bubbled up in him instantly. He left the dining hall with long strides, not bothering to respond to his family's inquiries about where he was going.  
  
That was becoming a trend recently, wasn't it? Him walking out in a fit of anger at Mellark and leaving his family absolutely confused as to his reasons? It only made him even angrier.  
  
The baker wasn't particularly hard to find; Gale knew all military trainees were scheduled to take their lunch break in the same period, and he wasn't in the dining hall, so unless he had snuck into the kitchen or something (he hadn't-- Gale checked), he had to be in his room. A quick second to browse to Thirteen's directory let him know which number he was looking for. Apparently Mellark's security clearance wasn't high enough for his compartment number to be private.  
  
The room was in the mid-to-upper levels, closer to the back elevators, which was a section that had gone untouched by the Capitol bombings. He approached the door and didn't bother to press the button for the bell, he simply knocked sharply three times and waited. If Dough Boy didn't answer, he'd just knock harder.  
  
Thankfully it didn't get to that point: a few seconds later the door opened and Mellark regarded him with a confused expression. "Gale?" he asked, clearly surprised to see him at his door. "Can I help you with anything?" he asked, politely but almost reluctantly, too. He stepped away from the door and back into the room, leaving the door open for Gale to come in if he wanted.  
  
He noticed the blond man moved closer to one of the beds-- there was something on top of it, he saw: a large, dark leather case, similar to those he'd seen some Town people carry musical instruments in. Did Mellark play an instrument or something? He hadn't had that case in his possession when he and Katniss left Twelve, so he wondered where it came from. The lid was down but the locks were open. "What's that?" he asked, taking a step into the room.  
  
"That's..." he began to answer, but then he seemed to think better about it. "It's nothing," he finally said, with a shake of his head, as he made to close the locks on the case and lowered it carefully to the floor, under the double bed. "So, what did you want?"  
  
Gale recognized an attempt at deflecting when he heard one, but he shrugged it off this time; he had more important things to deal with, so he wasn't going to beat around the bush. "You told the whole of Panem that Katniss is pregnant with your child." The words themselves were not an accusation, but Gale couldn't help but make them sound like one.  
  
"I had to," Mellark responded, without even a second of hesitation.  
  
"Right, and it's just a bonus that now everybody thinks you've slept with her." There was something about the certainty with which Mellark had replied, like Katniss's well-being had somehow become _his_ responsibility, that irritated Gale to no end. So when he responded, this time it really _was_ an accusation.  
  
Mellark's brows drew together in a weird expression, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to frown or roll his eyes. "She's my wife. I'm pretty sure everybody already assumes we've slept together."  
  
"She's _not_ your wife!" he snapped back at the younger man, incensed.  
  
"I know that," Mellark shot back, looking at Gale straight in the eye, his tone not wavering even for a moment. Once again he had to give it to the guy: he was not easy to intimidate. "I know that, and you know that, but _they_ don't, and that might just be the one thing that can get her out of there alive."  
  
"And what about everybody from Twelve, huh?" he expanded, "She lived there her whole life. There's people she went to school with, people she traded with, interacted with. Can you guess what they're going to think of her now, when they learned she got married in secret and is suddenly pregnant?" He saw Mellark finally settled on a frown-- seemingly not angry, but confused-- and figured his words were giving the baker pause for once. "Did you even stop to consider that before you made your little announcement?"  
  
"I did what I had to do to keep her from getting tortured... or worse," Mellark retorted, finally having to raise his voice in order to match Gale's. The reminder of what the Capitol might be doing to Katniss was unnecessary; Gale had been thinking of nothing but that since her interview with Flickerman aired.  
  
Mellark shook his head and continued speaking. "Look, for some... reason, people are actually invested in this romance thing, and according to Haymitch they're rooting for us, but that's not enough as long as her treason charges give them legitimate reason to punish her. But a baby-- if that punishment involves hurting a baby, that might be what finally pushes them into public outrage." He let his breath out in one disgruntled exhalation. "Besides, if these people really know her, then... they'll know it's just pretend," he added with a dejected shrug.  
  
Gale watched him carefully. He knew it had to have taken a lot for the baker to admit something like that to him, but he wasn't about to comfort the guy either. He wished things were that black-and-white, but they weren't. People were going to talk, and whether Mellark cared about it or not, it was going to affect Katniss somehow. So someone needed to think about how to deal with it, and he guessed it would have to be him. That suited him just fine. He wasn't about to let anyone talk ill of Katniss.  
  
The most irksome thing about it was that Katniss probably wouldn't care either. She never really cared about what people thought of her-- not unless it affected Prim somehow. And he knew why Mellark had done what he did. He saw the logic behind it, though he would never admit it out loud, and he recognized that everything Mellark did, he did to help Katniss; Gale could recognize it, because he himself would do anything to get her back.  
  
But that didn't mean he had to like it. So when he heard Mellark say those words on the television, he immediately needed to lash out somehow, and that's the feeling that spurred him to come and find the blond man. He knew it sounded petty, like he was simply turning this into some kind of pissing contest because he'd been spurned. But there was more to it than that. The truth was he needed to yell at Mellark for something-- _anything_ \-- because he was helping Katniss where Gale only felt impotent, and he really wanted to hate him for it.  
  
It was damn hard to hate the guy when standing right in front of him, though, particularly when everything he was saying made sense.  
  
Mellark kept elaborating, and that's around the time Gale decided it had been a stupid idea to come here in the first place. Could this man not _stop talking_? "Listen, you would do anything to make sure she's alright, wouldn't you?" He asked, as if he knew what Gale had been thinking just a few seconds previous. The answer to that must've been obvious from his expression, because the blond went on without him ever giving a response. "Well, I feel the same way. I just want her to be safe."  
  
He didn't need to say it; Gale knew. He _knew_ , dammit. He wasn't an idiot. It was painfully obvious that every feeling Mellark publically claimed to have for Katniss was sincere. Nobody could be that good an actor, not with his obvious frustration and desperation, even when the cameras were not on him... Mellark wasn't just interested in her; he was in love with her. And Gale wished he couldn't see it, but he did.  
  
"And if we both want the same thing," Mellark continued, "wouldn't it be better if we worked together?" He took a breath, giving Gale a look he couldn't figure out-- somewhere between resigned and determined, if that was even possible. "I know you don't like me, Gale. I get it. That's fine. But we're both on the same team here, okay?"  
  
"Fine," he relented, through gritted teeth. He wasn't sure if he has really convinced working together would improve their chances of getting Katniss back, or if he just said it to shut the guy up. He was more inclined to believe the latter. "But next time you wanna pull something like this, you let me know first," he added, narrowing his eyes at the baker as if emphasizing how serious he was about this.  
  
"I can do that," Mellark acquiesced, crossing his arms. They stared each other down in silence for a minute, until Gale decided he'd had enough of this conversation and turned to leave.  
  
About a week later, he got pulled out of sharpshooter training at the shooting range by a call to Command. He quickly disassembled and stored his weapon, knowing whatever was going on had to be about Katniss if his presence was requested so urgently. He wasn't about to waste time.  
  
When he got to Command, Mellark was already there. So were Abernathy and Odair, that aggravating Capitol man, Heavensbee, and a handful other higher-ups from the military. President Coin was sitting to the front of the room, and she didn't even glance in his direction as he tiptoed into the room, but Gale still felt like he was back in high school and caught sneaking back into class after playing hooky during fourth period.  
  
Everybody was listening attentively to a slight man wearing oversized glasses-- Beetee, he recalled, a former Victor from District Three-- as he explained something they were about to see in a video. "...This hasn't aired anywhere. I don't think they were planning on airing it," he was saying, as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "We were able to hack into the Capitol's server and copy the clip."  
  
Gale took in the man's slightly shaky intonation. This was the computer genius behind their so-called "airtime assault"? The one who had created the computer virus that allowed them to bring down the arena's force field? The one who kept communications between Thirteen and the rebels at the Capitol secret by keeping the government bouncing from signal to signal? He didn't look particularly imposing. But Gale didn't have time to keep pondering on it, as the man moved to the side so the video could play on the screen behind him.  
  
He wasn't the only person in the room to tense up when the monitor came alive and the first thing they saw was Katniss.  
  
This time, there was no fire dress, no fancy make-up, no bright lights. She was sitting on a gray floor, leaning back against a grey wall, no windows visible anywhere. She looked haggard, her olive complexion giving way to a sickly, yellowish pallor that reminded Gale of the first days of their friendship, when she seemed like she would starve to death any second. Her gray eyes were heavy-lidded, like she wasn't completely awake. She seemed to be physically unharmed, no sign of wounds or bruises anywhere, but even so, she looked like she wasn't quite there. She looked like the living dead.  
  
The camera panned out and that's when they realized she wasn't alone: Caesar Flickerman was sitting in front of her. It seemed to Gale that they were trying to imitate the format of Mellark's propos, but Flickerman probably wasn't the type to stay off-camera. "Hello again, Katniss," the man intervened, sounding much more sobered down than his usual flamboyant approach.  
  
"Hello, Caesar," Katniss replied, and it was obvious from just those two words alone that there was something wrong with her. Her tone was low, each syllable came out as a slur, and her head was lolling very slightly as she spoke. She was leaning sideways, like the wick of a candle that had its fire snuffed out. What had they done to her?  
  
As if on cue, Flickerman turned to the camera to explain. "You may have noticed that Katniss here seems a little out of sorts today. But I'll lay your worries to rest: there is nothing wrong with her; it is simply the effect of a necessary medicine we administered to her. I assure you, the drowsiness is quite normal."  
  
Someone toward the back of the room snorted, and Gale thought he might almost do the same. It didn't take a genius to know this "medicine" they had given her was nothing more than a sedative to keep her under control. She would never be this compliant when operating on full capacity.  
  
The TV host turned to Katniss again. "So, Katniss. It seems you're looking alright."  
  
"I'd look better if I had a stylist," she replied, and Gale could've chuckled if they were in any other situation. If it weren't for the slurring, the words might've had some bite to them-- it was the first sign he could see that the Katniss he knew was still in there, although watered down.  
  
Her response seemed to catch Flickerman slightly off-guard. "I meant because of your... condition," he added, clearly meaning her "pregnancy." Gale held no illusions that Snow had bought Mellark's reveal. They had tests for that sort of thing; they would've checked already. The fact that Flickerman was not immediately refuting the claim meant they thought going with the story might help them somehow-- or more like attempting to convince everybody that baby had never existed to begin with would be counterproductive for them.  
  
Well, he'll be damned. Mellark's plan had worked after all.  
  
Katniss simply stared quietly at him, saying nothing. Initially Gale thought she might simply refusing to respond in protest, but the blank look in her eyes made him think she was either too out of it to understand what he said, or she simply didn't know anything about the baby she was supposedly expecting.  
  
Flickerman tried again. "Have you been comfortable?" he asked her. Gale wasn't sure what they were going for with those types of questions. Did the Capitol really expect everyone watching to think they were treating Katniss well? _It's not like they put her in a lush hotel room_ , he thought with derision. _She's in a freaking cell._  
  
"I've had worse," she eventually replied, after a little too long a pause, like it took her extra time to process the man's question.  
  
"That's good. That's... that's good," Flickerman let out, slightly unprepared for her response. It was strange to see him so hesitant, but he guessed there were only so many ways to spin Katniss's out-of-it responses into something that painted the Capitol in a positive light. Perhaps that was part of the reason why this interview never made it to air.  
  
"Now, Katniss, we were talking about your previous interview a few minutes ago, and you said you had something you needed to tell everyone. A mistake you made in what you said last time." Once again he was prodding her in a specific direction, Gale could discern. The Capitol wanted her to say something very specific... deny everything she'd said the last time, perhaps? There was no point to that; she had already warned Thirteen of the upcoming attack, and the district was still standing. That, she couldn't take back.  
  
Once again it took her a while to respond, but when she did, she shifted her cloudy gray eyes toward the camera instead of Flickerman. "They want me to tell you that I was lying, that Thirteen isn't real." She shook her head, sending it lolling from side to side like it was a little too heavy to hold it upright. "But I won't," she finished, a hint of her usual stubbornness to her voice.  
  
Flickerman let out a pained sigh, and grimaced. "Just cut," he told the cameraman with a dismissive wave of his hand, and that was the end of the clip.  
  
Heavensbee's assistant, predictably, was the first to react, sounding more excited about this recent development than any normal person with a heart should be. "With some quick editing, we can get this on air by tomorrow morning," she said.  
  
Gale immediately switched his attention toward her and her boss. "You can't put this on TV," he let out, a dark scowl marring his features. As he spoke, everybody in the room turned to look in his direction, though he hadn't intended to be so snappish. "What could we possibly gain from people seeing her like this?" he insisted, refusing to be shaken. He didn't want people to see Katniss, fiery Katniss who was the strongest person he knew, this weak, this vulnerable. It was wrong.  
  
"On the contrary. Their medicine excuse is obviously flimsy," it was President Coin herself who responded to his objection, in her usual grave, inflectionless tone. "If audiences have grown to care for this girl, seeing her mistreated in such a way while she's pregnant is going to give them another reason to be angry at the Capitol. We need as many of those as we can."  
  
"Oh, come now, lady," Haymitch intervened, and not for the first time Gale wondered how the abrasive drunk could get away with such blatant disrespect. He may not agree with Coin's strategic decisions, but he'd have to be pushed far if he ever talked back to the President of the district that sheltered them after their own was destroyed. Apparently, Haymitch felt no such obligations to the woman. "The only thing people are going to think when they see this is that we left her in their clutches. They'll think we failed."  
  
"We _did_ fail her," Mellark interjected. Gale turned to look at him; he was now sitting down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and looking down at the ground. Once again Gale found himself grudgingly empathizing: even seeing with their own eyes that Katniss was still alive, that didn't help the rotten feeling of knowing how much she had to have suffered over the past couple of weeks, simply because Coin wouldn't let them take action.  
  
And that's just what Haymitch was doing: trying to exert more pressure on Coin, try to get her to at least lift a finger to get Katniss out of there. And it seemed like he had scored some points with his last remark, because Coin remained contemplative for a few seconds, as if weighing the former Victor's words in her head.  
  
Finally, she spoke up again. "Alright. We'll organize a search party for her." Heads turned in her direction, mouths dropping. Abernathy looked fairly pleased with himself. Mellark stood up abruptly, eyes wide. Gale almost let out an exclamation of triumph. Nobody had actually expected her to relent, but nobody was about to argue, either. This was what they all wanted: to get Katniss back.  
  
But there was not much time for rejoicing as she continued issuing orders almost immediately. "Beetee, keep trying to hack into their system for any source information on the video. Soldier Mellark, as she's your wife, I want you to work with Beetee, too, inspecting the clip itself. There might be slight indications in the video as to where they're keeping her."  
  
"Uh, I think Gale should handle that one," Mellark intervened in a low tone, finally coming out of the shock to put his hands in his pockets. Gale turned to look at him again, surprised he would pass on an opportunity to help Katniss. It was bad enough it was only because of him that Gale had been allowed in Command; he didn't need to do Gale any more favors. He'd get involved in his own way. But then he understood, when the blond bashfully added: "He's known her longer."  
  
And what he meant was: _he knows her better than I do._ Which Gale did.  
  
If anyone thought that was suspicious, nobody showed it. "Very well then," President Coin agreed, with a nod. "Soldier Hawthorne, you have your orders. We'll reconvene when we have a lead." She stood up, picked up the data folders and planner book she always carried with her, and exited Command, most of the people from Thirteen trailing behind her.  
  
As Gale made his way out of the room, he saw Mellark and Odair conversing in hushed tones in the hallway. Odair seemed very adamant about something, and Mellark kept nodding, as if trying to placate him. Gale didn't know what that was about, but he didn't care to find out either. He didn't want to be around either of them anymore than he needed to. He knew Mellark only did any of this because of Katniss, but for some reason it still felt like he owed the baker gratitude for something. And he wasn't about to thank the guy. Never.  
  
He made his way to the dining hall; he didn't have to make his way back to training for a while, as the meeting had extended into his lunch hour. As he was walking down the narrow hallways, he caught sight of Madge, walking out of a doorway he presumed led to the scheduling office, where she worked. She usually had lunch at the same time he did, he would see her sometimes, sitting mostly on her own. Figuring they were both heading in the same direction anyway, he walked up to her.  
  
She noticed him approaching and gave him a small wave. "Late for lunch, too?" she asked, with a light smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. No one he knew was really up to smiling ever since Twelve was destroyed, but she always seemed to want to give it a try.  
  
"Got held up in Command," he mumbled with a shrug. He didn't really want to talk about the meeting at all; however, he was in a mood because of Mellark. Sometimes the irritation bubbled up in him, and it was hard not to go into a rant. Now that they were in Thirteen, and he didn't have to hold back for fear a Peacekeeper might hear him and arrest him for treason, it was a lot easier just to let his mouth run without a care on which topic he was touching upon. So the next phrase was out of his mouth without him even giving them a thought. "Really, what is it with you townies?" he asked.  
  
It was more of a rhetorical question, but the girl walking beside him didn't seem to get that. "What do you mean?"  
  
If she'd taken his inquiry as some kind of personal affront, she didn't show it, and maybe that's why he didn't bother filtering the rest of his words. "You'd think all you people would be self-centered and clueless about anything around you, but then you open your mouths and you have the gall to actually be right about things. What the hell?"  
  
By that point, she actually seemed more amused than anything else. "I take it you think that's a bad thing," she said, looking like she could be about to chuckle. Her eyes, though tired from what he guessed was a short night of sleep and a hard morning at work, shone with mirth.  
  
He snorted. "I don't know if it's bad... but it's damn annoying, that's for sure," he finished with a shake of his head. He could recall Madge herself being right about a few things when it came to him and Katniss, and he wasn't any more willing to admit it to her than he was to be in the same vicinity as Mellark.  
  
"You mean _Peeta's_ annoying," she stated, figuring out in just a few seconds just which townie he was specifically thinking of. It didn't take a genius; she had been around during quite a few of his confrontations with the baker. "Was the meeting about Katniss, then? Are there any news about her?"  
  
He shook his head. "Can't say." She wasn't military and he didn't want to risk his already tentative clearance at Command by telling her more than she was allowed to know.  
  
"Oh, come on," she said, apparently understanding that he didn't feel at liberty to discuss the topic with her. She probably knew how security clearance and confidentiality agreements worked, with her father's job and all. "Who am I going to tell? The only people I routinely hang out with are your family."  
  
He threw her an annoyed look over his shoulder. In any other person the words might've sounded like sarcasm, but in her case it was mostly just the truth. Having no relatives left, Madge got placed in a compartment that was meant to be shared by two people, except there was no one really left to share it with her. Upon learning this, Gale's mother had sort of unofficially adopted her, and now Madge was sitting with his family during dinner every day. ("It'll be like old times," Vick commented, meaning the four or so days she brought them food while Gale was out of the district). Most days the kids managed to coerce into spending her "reflection" period in their compartment with them, too.  
  
The one time he even pretended to object, his mother gave him one of those _mother_ glares. So like it or not, he was getting used to her presence-- and had witnessed first-hand that she really didn't have that many friends. "You hang out with that Cartwright girl, though," he pointed out, remembering he had seen the pasty-faced girl chattering animatedly in Madge's direction a few times during lunch.  
  
She shook her head. "Delly doesn't count," she said, and it sounded almost uncharacteristically dismissive of her until she continued speaking, and then it made sense. "Even if I told her anything, she wouldn't listen. All she does is talk about her secret boyfriend." She sighed, moving a hand to press against the bridge of her nose. "I can't believe Delly actually found a boyfriend during a bombing and all I can manage is an imaginary one," she muttered under her breath, like the words were meant to be thought instead of spoken, but Gale could still piece it together.  
  
He didn't know what, exactly, but something about that remark was funny to him. He stopped, grabbing her arm lightly to get her to do the same, and looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "You're lookin' for a summer fling in an underground bunker?" he asked, the idea so ludicrous that it was simply hilarious, and he couldn't not tease her about it. He was chuckling by the time he finished the question. Genuinely chuckling. It felt like an eternity since he'd last done so.  
  
Her eyes widened, and her cheeks immediately turned a deep, rosy color. "I can't believe I said that out loud!" she admitted, confirming Gale's thoughts just a minute previous. "No, that's not what I meant, really." She was initially eager to stop the teasing but a couple of seconds later she realized the hilarity of the situation on her own and began to laugh. Honest-to-goodness laughter, the likes of which he hadn't heard in ages. It drew a grin from him. "It's just," she tried to explain, but she kept having to pause to take a break, she was laughing so hard. "It's just something funny that happened with my... mom..."  
  
The mention of her deceased mother sobered her up pretty quickly, and he followed, the amusement gone just as fast as it came. They continued walking. "Never mind," she interjected, switching topics a little awkwardly. "We were talking about Katniss, though. Really, Gale, I won't say anything to anyone. I just want to know if she's okay."  
  
He cringed. Seriously, was it a townie thing? Did they have some kind of magic with the blonde hair and blue eyes? Because again, he could understand the feeling. He didn't want to, but he did. It was the only reason he hadn't thrown Mellark's "favors" back in his face: because he needed to be in the loop when it came to Katniss, he couldn't _not_ be, and an opportunity for that was something he couldn't turn down, no matter who it came from. He would swallow his pride if he had to, for Katniss.  
  
Madge didn't have someone offering her a spot in Command, and likely wouldn't. She wasn't even in the military. There was no reasonable way for her to find anything about Katniss on her own, unless he told her. He could just give her the gist of it, without any confidential details, right?  
  
Dammit. He was going soft.  
  
He sighed. "She's still alive." Her eyes lit up immediately. "But she's not okay," he continued. He didn't want to burst her little hopeful bubble, but he was going to give her the truth, even if it wasn't pretty. "They're keeping her under some kind of sedation. They tried to interview her like that, but it didn't go well."  
  
Madge's expression fell, worry clearly settling on her brow. "Do you think they're going to kill her?" she asked, in a very small voice. He remembered that tone from the forest, after the bombing and the death of her parents. She was genuinely distressed for Katniss. She was truly her friend.  
  
"Not yet," he responded. And he wasn't lying; after seeing that poor attempt at an interview, there was no doubt in his mind that Mellark's trick truly changed the game. "People think she's pregnant, and if she suddenly winds up dead, they won't be happy. Even the Capitol people. Snow won't risk it." She still looked upset, and he couldn't blame her: it may seem like this turn of events gave them the upper hand, but until they managed to get her out of there, there were no guarantees.  
  
"President Coin finally agreed to send in a retrieval team," he added, and that seemed to bring a little of that hope back to her expression. "We're looking for her now. Once we find her, we can get her back." He looked ahead, to where people were filing into the dining hall, a short distance down the hallway. "We _will_ get her back."  
  
He kept reminding himself of that, and there was renewed energy in his steps as they finally made it to the doors. He muttered a "see you at dinner" as he was about to split off from her, to have lunch with his usual group of fellow trainees. But before he could take a step he felt her touch his forearm to call his attention. "Gale?" He turned back to look at her, his eyebrows raised as if in question. She gave him a small smile. "You'll get Katniss back."  
  
That's exactly what he had just said, so he was not quite sure what she meant with the reiteration. Did she think he would be a part of Katniss's rescue mission himself? He certainly intended to be, but he didn't know if he would be, not yet. Probably not until they found where the Capitol was keeping her.  
  
He veered right and looked back at Madge over his shoulder one last time, her attempt at a smile still fixed in his direction. He imagined she was hoping, just as he was, that Thirteen intelligence would find Katniss soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Cringe- Please don't kill me? -puppy face-
> 
> I know it's been forever since I last updated, and really I have no excuse. Between new fandoms and nosy relatives and just wanting to rest from _life in general_ , I have not been in a writing frame of mind for the most part of my vacation. I haven't even started writing chapter 37 yet (keep your fingers crossed that my muse decides to return to me soon!). Still, I don't want to leave you guys hanging so I decided to post 32 anyway. (And then my computer died, and I thought I was going to lose all my files. Yep, that's just my karma. Thank goodness I managed to get them back-- I was on the verge of throwing myself off a cliff, let me tell you).
> 
> I'm so grateful to anyone who took the time to give me a poke and ask about the status of the next update for this fanfic. Guilt tripping actually helps, haha! ;) I have to say that publishing this chapter is a gamble, though, because now I'm only 4 chapters ahead rather than 5, which means I have to plan every upcoming chapter a LOT more carefully. So it's likely that from now on chapters will trickle out slowly even if I _do_ get back in the writing mood. That's what I get for coming up with such a darn complicated plot. -rolls eyes- I hope you guys can understand that. Sorry. I love you? -Crawls off into a corner and curls into a ball-
> 
> Now, about the chapter itself... "We're both on the same team here"-- LOLOLOL see what i did there? xD I do hope Gale's point in that scene came across well. Before anyone jumps at me telling me how big a chauvinistic asshole Gale is, keep in mind that it wasn't really about Peeta's baby bomb at all (or the public implication that Peeta and Katniss had had sex), it was really about the fact that Peeta is in a position to help Katniss while Gale can't. What can I say, these feelings of impotence are a big theme in this story, and not just for Gale.
> 
> Anyway, I don't expect to get any reviews for this chapter because I know y'all hate me now (really, don't bother trying to soften the blow, lol), but I feel obligated to mention that I'm on Twitter (girls_are_weird) and Tumblr (girls-are-weird), and sometimes I post snippets of future chapters there. Next up is Madge, which will hopefully-- HOPEFULLY-- happen soon. Thanks for reading! :)


	33. Madge: Influences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 33: Influences_
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
Since her last conversation with Gale, Madge had taken to avoiding spending time with the Hawthornes. It wasn't that she was mad at them, or that she'd been upset by something Gale said; on the contrary, she was ecstatic from the news he gave her, thrilled that steps were finally being taken to find Katniss and bring her back. It was just that after that conversation, she realized maybe she was imposing on the Hawthornes too much, and she never wanted to impose on anybody.  
  
It wasn't that she wasn't thankful for their openness, because she was. They'd taken her in and helped her feel better when she was at her lowest point, and she would never forget that. They would always be dear to her for that reason. But she didn't want to need cheering up anymore. Yes, her parents were dead, and nothing would ever bring them back, but she had to move on eventually.  
  
How could she not, when they all had so many more important things to think about, like Katniss's rescue and the rebellion against the Capitol? The Hawthornes were a tight family, and deserved every second they had to spend together, especially if Gale was going to be sent on the rescue squad soon. She wasn't going to intrude in their family time anymore.  
  
Besides, Katniss would be coming back soon. She would. And unlike Madge, she was part of the Hawthornes' family. She was Gale's best friend, and Rory's sister in law. She belonged with them. When she came back, they'd take her right back into their fold, as it was meant to be.  
  
And, truly, that was more than alright with Madge. She welcomed the idea of something going back to the way it was before, something she knew how to deal with. Things had been changing so quickly since Prim got reaped; alarmingly quickly, really, all leading up to a single second when a single Capitol bomb upturned her life forever. The way she thought, the way she _felt_... everything around her seemed to be changing. And maybe it was a little too much to handle, all things considered. Maybe one thing being the same as before was a good thing, even if it meant fading into the background all over again. She was used to that.  
  
She knew how to handle being lonely.  
  
She didn't have the heart to refuse Hazelle's open invitation to her face (it would be terribly impolite, too), so instead she started pulling longer hours at work. Since she was in scheduling, it was easy enough to move her own name to the second shift dinner list. Nobody she knew had dinner at that hour; it was mostly Thirteen maintenance crews, the kitchen staff... a lot of plumbers?  
  
It wasn't just a scheme on her part, either; the workload at the office really had increased a lot over the past couple of weeks, and they needed to put in extra weight. With the rebellion's efforts becoming more and more solid by the day, more and more people, both from Thirteen and Twelve, were enlisting in the military or in military-supporting jobs. And they all needed their schedules to be adjusted.  
  
She didn't mind spending more time in the office, she liked it there. Her boss, the head of the Scheduling department, was an older man, maybe in his fifties, who seemed to recognize and reward talent. He always had a kind word for Madge when she did things right, and was understanding when she did something wrong. She liked him very much.  
  
Her only other colleague was sadly not as nice— a stuffy man named Collett who was always looking down his nose at her. She had heard him at least once muttering about the people from Twelve and how they flooded in to take away jobs that were rightfully for the people of Thirteen. She paid him no mind; she'd had years of practice ignoring snide remarks from Gale and other Seam kids, so she knew how to ignore it. He had been doing the work of two people up to the point Madge was hired, so it seemed he still wasn't used to sharing his duties. Instead he seemed to see her as competition; the moment he heard she was taking extra work, he requested the same. She didn't really mind. He didn't talk to her unless it was strictly necessary, so they hardly ever interacted.  
  
By Friday, however, she had already worked all her legally allowed extra hours, so she was left with a huge blank in her schedule she didn't know what to do with. Tired, she decided to skip dinner that night, choosing instead to go back to her compartment, change into her pajamas and call it an early night. It wasn't like that "reflection" hour was good for anything, anyway.  
  
She was just coming out of the shower when her doorbell rang. She knew her roommate had to be at dinner, so she was surprised by it. Who could be coming to visit at that hour? She barely had a second to wonder before she opened the door and was immediately hit by the freight train known as Posy Hawthorne.  
  
"Madge!" the girl exclaimed cheerfully, wrapping her arms tightly around Madge's waist. "Where have you been? Why haven't you been having dinner with us? We've missed you!"  
  
"I— I've been working," she stuttered, caught off-guard, only managing an awkward pat on the girl's head. Raising her eyes she noticed Posy wasn't the only Hawthorne who had graced her with their presence that day: Gale was standing there, very visibly holding back a smirk. He almost took up the whole doorway, she noticed off-handedly, both in height and in the width of his shoulders. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at dinner?"  
  
"We're going, we just had to come pick you up first!" Posy exclaimed again letting go of her and bouncing a little on the balls of her feet.  
  
"She's been coming up every day before dinner just to check if you're here," Gale intervened, finally letting just a slip of that smirk come through. He crossed his arms and rested his shoulder against the doorframe. "She had this idea that you've been avoiding us, for some reason," he added, pointedly.  
  
She wasn't sure what to say. She didn't want to bring the girl down, she seemed so happy to have found her in her compartment for once. "I just— Posy, I can't have dinner now... I'm not scheduled for it until the second shift, I'm sorry," she said, sticking to her "new routine" excuse. Gale's expression let her know she was busted either way.  
  
Posy wasn't having it either. "Aw, please. Who writes the schedules? You do! Nobody's even gonna notice," she said, in a tone Madge had heard her use on Vick often enough. Something twinged in her heart at the idea that this little girl was treating her like she treated her own family.  
  
"But Posy, I—" It was only when the girl skittered past her and moved toward her clothes drawers that she noticed what she was wearing. "I'm in my pajamas!" she squeaked, and when she turned to look at Gale again, his raised eyebrows let her know this had not escaped his notice. She fought the urge to cover herself, even though she knew it was a ridiculous feeling to have. Her Thirteen-assigned sleepwear was perfectly conservative, the same model of grey t-shirt and sweatpants that were assigned to everyone because of how cold it got underground during the night. But it was the principle of the thing.  
  
As Posy started looking for some clothes for Madge to wear as if going through her drawers was something she did every day, Gale dropped his smirk. He leaned ever-so-slightly closer to her (something she was suddenly very acutely aware of) and spoke in a lower tone, so Posy wouldn't hear what he was saying. "She came to get you to come have dinner with us," he repeated, his steely eyes looking down at her, seriously. "I came to tell you... we found her."  
  
She knew immediately what he meant. Her eyes widened, her heart started beating furiously in her chest. She knew what he meant, but she still had to make sure; it was too important for her to risk misunderstanding. "Katniss?" she asked, holding her breath in anticipation as she did. "She's still alive?"  
  
"We think so," he replied, his grave voice rumbling as he whispered close to her ear. "President Coin already gave the go for the rescue squad."  
  
She was about to ask more when Posy came up to them, a set of standard Thirteen daily wear under her arm, and started tugging at Madge's t-shirt. "Come on," she groaned. "You can flirt at dinner if you want, but first Madge needs to get ready if we want to get there before all the food is gone!" the girl exclaimed as she pushed her further inside so she could change. Gale threw his little sister an indignant glare. Madge was sure she was blushing all the way to the bathroom.  
  
At the dining hall, the rest of the Hawthorne clan welcomed her back with open arms. She didn't get off without Vick teasing her a little about her absence ("The amazing, disappearing Madge Undersee! How is it that you just vanish from sight, Madge? Please reveal the trick to your awaiting audience."), but for the most part, dinner was about the same as every other day.  
  
Rory wasn't around for dinner; as usual, when he got off classes he stopped by the kitchens to get his portion and spent the entire dinner period with Prim in the medical bay. She didn't see him until later, in their reflection hour, once they had moved up to the Hawthornes' compartment.  
  
Their compartment was larger than hers, meant for a full family, and it included a small closet, more space for beds, and even a small sitting room. They were all making use of the wider space. Posy was finishing up some homework, Vick was already snoring away, Hazelle was working on mending some of her sons' shirts, and Gale was taking clothes out of a drawer. She was actually just about to excuse herself and go back to her compartment when the boy walked in, looking drained like he did every other night, and with a mumbled greeting to the rest of his family, dropped himself on the couch, right beside Madge. He looked up. "Hey, you're here," he commented, sounding surprised, as if he hadn't quite looked around the room prior to sitting down. "Finally decided to stop hiding from us, huh?"  
  
She sighed. After spending a couple hours with the family— playing with Posy, joking around with Vick, talking about the day to day with Hazelle and even Gale, a little— she was feeling much too content, much too buoyant, to keep hanging onto the same excuse. "I'm sorry," she said instead. "I didn't want to intrude on you all anymore."  
  
He scoffed, in that decidedly Hawthorne way. "Oh, please," he said, sounding so much like Posy in that moment, it was hard for her not to grin. "It's not intruding if you're invited. Besides, you know something, Madge?" He paused a moment to take off his shoes and stretch his legs as far as they could go. "If it was anyone else, I'd be mad at you and tell you to piss off. But since it's you... well, you're not bad, I guess. For a grownup."  
  
She chuckled at his phrasing, but was touched by the sentiment. "Really?" she asked somewhat shyly. Even after she had avoided them for a whole week, the Hawthornes had done nothing that night but try and make her feel welcome, and she wasn't used to such freely-given affection. Particularly coming from Rory, who had seemed to push away the entire world since Prim was reaped. "I'm not that special."  
  
"You know, Prim always speaks highly of you," he replied, seemingly changing the topic— but maybe he wasn't, really, she thought as he continued. "Those books you got for her? They made her so happy, you have no idea. If it weren't for you, she wouldn't have been able to do what she loves to do. Help people."  
  
She waved him off easily. "Oh, that was nothing."  
  
He shook his head. "It wasn't nothing. Those books are illegal, and you still got them for her. That takes guts. You don't think you have it in you, Madge, but you do." He finished the phrase with a shrug, like he was just stating a fact. "Besides, you know what I really like about you? You remind me of her, a little." His tone grew wistful as he thought about the girl he loved, still prone on her hospital bed with the doctors not having one word of hope for the people who cared about her.  
  
"And I mean more than just the hair and the eyes," he vaguely gestured to Madge's features. Of course, Prim had those Town looks she got from her mother, which brought several physical similarities to other merchant girls, Madge included. "But what I mean is... you both always see the good in people. And, you know, we could use a little of that around here sometimes. Especially now that she's..."  
  
He trailed off, obviously upset when thinking of Prim's condition. Madge had the urge to give the suffering boy a hug, but she wasn't sure if it would be overstepping his boundaries. Still, she felt incredibly overwhelmed by his admission. Rory was a good kid— a great kid, really. And Prim was the most important person in his life. If he thought Madge had even a little of the goodness Prim had in her heart, then she had to take that as the highest compliment. It meant the world to her. "She'll pull out of this, Rory. You'll see," she assured him, because that was all she could do.  
  
He didn't look reassured (how could he be? He probably wouldn't until he saw Prim open her eyes again), but he nodded anyway. Then he got up, saying he had to change his clothes. "By the way, when I said we could use a little more of that," he mumbled as he passed in front of her, "I didn't mean just me."  
  
She was about to ask what that was about when he walked up to their clothes drawers and patted his older brother in the shoulder. Gale, she noticed, was packing what looked like a small getaway bag. She wondered why, but after thinking about it for a second, it dawned on her. She spoke up just as Rory made his way to the bathroom. "So you're going on the rescue mission, then?" she asked, sitting a little straighter on the couch.  
  
He looked at her, seemingly having forgotten she was still around, and nodded. "Yeah, we leave first thing in the morning."  
  
She nodded, not sure how to feel about that, as he turned back to his packing. She was glad they were finally willing to rescue Katniss, and glad Gale would be there to make sure she was okay, but she was also very worried. It felt like so many things could go wrong, and she desperately hoped none would.  
  
Silence settled between them again, and she simply watched him pack. He seemed almost eager in his movements, in a way that she didn't believe had anything to do with the mission itself. Yes, he wanted more than anything to bring Katniss back safely, but Gale Hawthorne of all people would know this was no walk in the park, and take that seriously.  
  
But then she remembered hearing him comment to Vick the previous week that he was sick of being cooped up underground. He missed hunting, he missed being out in the forest. Maybe that's what was giving him that extra energy: the idea that, no matter how dangerous this mission was, at least he would get to be _out_ again. Out there where he belonged, fighting.  
  
She knew she'd never understand that feeling. She had only ever spent those three miserable days in the forest, and they were so marked with personal tragedy, she hadn't even had the peace of mind to appreciate the beauty, the freedom of being outside. But she wasn't about to tell him that, of course.  
  
Finally putting the last item (an old, rundown wrist watch) inside his bag, he turned to her. She was startled, suddenly realizing she'd been staring. He signaled toward the door with his head. "Come on, it's late. I'll walk you back." She nodded.  
  
They walked in silence down the dimly illuminated walkways. (Around the time people were scheduled for sleep, the light from lamps in the public passageways was brought down to half the regular intensity, to conserve energy). She was used to his silence by now, and figured he was mentally preparing himself for his mission the following day. She should just stay quiet and let him have this moment, but still she felt she had to say something.  
  
"Listen..." she started again, breaking the quiet. He turned to regard her, brows furrowed the littlest bit, as if trying to figure out what her hesitation was about. She swallowed with difficulty. "After what happened to my parents... I don't think I could take it. I can't lose Katniss, too," she admitted, her tone shaky with emotion she was sure he wasn't up to dealing with. But she couldn't help it.  
  
He didn't say anything; he stared at her for a moment, still with that frown in place and as usual she could almost feel the intensity in his eyes weighing on her. She didn't really expect him to respond to her confession. He'd done well enough when he tried to comfort her in the forest after her parents died. He had helped her tremendously, more than he could ever know, with very few words, but she wasn't expecting him to do it again. It was silly to think he would try to assuage her fears when she was staying in Thirteen, perfectly cushy while it was _him_ putting his life on the line. She didn't say it so he would reassure her, she just wanted someone to know.  
  
So they continued walking quietly. Once they got to her compartment, she saw there was no light coming from under the door; her roommate was probably already asleep. As she went to take her key-card out of her pocket, however, she felt him grasp at her elbow carefully. "Hey," he said, and she turned to look at him, wondering if something was wrong.  
  
He hesitated for a moment, almost like he was trying to find the right way to put whatever he wanted to say. And finally, he found it. "You're not going to lose Katniss," he asserted, his eyes fixed on hers, his voice coming through strong and sure, as it always did. "You won't. We'll get her back. Whatever it takes, I'll get her out of there."  
  
It took him a second longer to let go of her arm, which she felt more keenly than she knew she should, and she could do nothing but gaze back at him, wanting, needing to believe him— "you see the best in people," Rory had said, and she couldn't help but know that Gale was at his best when he was protecting those he loved. So she nodded.  
  
With that he turned to leave, and she opened her door as she had previously meant to, but before walking in and going into bed like her schedule said, she paused, feeling like there was one more thing he needed to know, one more thing she needed to say, because if things _did_ go wrong during that mission, she might never get the chance again. "Gale..." she called out.  
  
He was already halfway down the hallway, hands inside his pockets as he walked, but he stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. "Yeah?"  
  
She wrought her hands together, almost subconsciously, before saying the words. "I can't lose you either."  
  
He was too far away for her to be able to see his expression as he took that in, but his head bobbed slightly as he responded. "You better take care of my family while I'm away," he said, as if their previous agreement from back in Twelve was still in place. It made her smile. "See you when I get back, Madge."  
  
With that, he continued walking away, and she walked into her room, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.  
  
The days after the squad left were agonizing, and not just for her, but for everyone. The whole district was tense with a sense of urgency. Whenever anyone brought up the ongoing mission, people would mutter among themselves in low tones as if just speaking about it could jinx it. But in reality, nobody knew what was going on. Madge had even tried asking Peeta, but it seemed he didn't know any more than what they were told in the daily public reports: the squad had arrived at the rendezvous point with the scouts, debriefed, and were now waiting for the right moment to go in.  
  
It figured: now that she really _wanted_ to know what was going on, she reached the end of her (admittedly short) list of acquaintances with high enough status in Command.  
  
Until Monday, that was.  
  
It was mid-morning, and she was just getting started with the most tedious part of her job: uploading the recent schedule changes to Thirteen's computer server. She was just starting on her second batch of modifications (the dreaded E-H segment, which somehow always seemed to her like it took the longest time), when President Coin herself walked into the office.  
  
"Seemour, I need you to upload a series of schematics and send them to the squadron via communicuff," she said, in an efficient, no-nonsense tone. Her steps resounded loudly against the floor as she walked, even though she wasn't wearing heels. She was addressing Madge's boss directly without so much as looking at the other two people in the room, which Madge thought was rude, but she chose to ignore that; surely someone who was running an entire district had no time for pleasantries. Besides, she was talking about Gale. She wasn't about to interrupt that particular conversation for something as silly as the lack of a proper greeting.  
  
It wasn't the first time the President had come into her office. She often needed Madge's boss to send communicuff messages for her because, as she understood it, President Coin's previous assistant had been fired and she had yet to find a replacement. Rumor had it, it had something to do with the mission to assassinate Seneca Crane. It seemed President Coin's former assistant had messed up when sending the squad some blueprints of the building's exit routes, and that resulted in them all getting captured. Not that Madge was one to pay attention to gossip, but since it involved Katniss, she couldn't help but overhear.  
  
As far as Madge knew, the woman knew how to use her communicuff just fine, but for stuff that took more time, such as digitizing schematics and blueprints that had to be sent to large groups, she usually deferred the task to someone else who could handle computer code— in this case, Madge's boss.  
  
That wasn't in his job description, however, and she had heard him more than once drop subtle hints to the President that she should look for a new assistant soon. In fact, that's just what he did in this visit, as well. "None of the last batch of applicants were adequate for the assistant position, madam President?" he asked her, his tone conversational, as he inserted the disk President Coin had just handed him into a slot on his computer.  
  
The President didn't seem much interested in his hints; instead of looking at him as she spoke, she lifted her arm to check something in her communicuff. "None of them fulfilled the required qualifications," she said, in a clipped tone, which reminded Madge of the pre-recorded voice that announced the content of each level in the elevators. "However, if you have any more suggestions, feel free to drop them off at my office."  
  
She pressed a few more buttons on the keypad on her wrist. "Let me know when the squad confirms they received the schematics," she all but ordered, and turned to leave.  
  
Madge's boss spoke up before she could, however. "Actually, madam President, if you could spare me just a few more minutes, I think I have the perfect candidate for you right here." This piqued Madge's attention. She had been trying hard to make it seem like she was concentrating on her work, but it was hard to seem disinterested in the conversation, especially since Collett in the next desk wasn't even bothering to hide the fact that he was snooping.  
  
Thankfully, she didn't have to pretend anymore, as her boss decided to involve her in the conversation instead. "Madge, could you come here?" She was surprised by the call, but did as he asked. Surely her boss couldn't have meant _she_ was the "perfect candidate," could he?  
  
She moved so she stood in front of her boss's desk, right beside the President, who turned her serious eyes to look at her. "Good morning, President Coin," she said, respectfully. Never let it be said she didn't know how to conduct herself around important public officials. While working for her father, she had had to stand in front of President Snow himself quite a few times, and he was a lot scarier than President Coin was. "Did you need me for anything, Mr. Belkin?"  
  
"Yes, yes, thank you, Madge," her boss got up from his seat, walked around his desk, and stepped beside her, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "Madam President, this is Margaret Undersee. She is a very driven young lady, exceptionally good with schedule generation and has proven to be a smart, efficient employee. I believe she would be an excellent choice for your assistant."  
  
Madge willed herself not to blush at her employer's words of praise. She was surprised that he'd put her up for a promotion, since there was so much work to be done in the department and he couldn't afford to be down one employee, particularly not the one with the least seniority in the department. In fact, she could feel her fellow scheduler glaring daggers at her back as she stood there.  
  
On the other hand, she was a little upset that he'd just set her up for this without consulting her first. She was already used to this job, she liked it. What if she wasn't interested in being the President's assistant? Did he even stop to think that she might have to reject a direct offer from the President just because he put her on the spot? That wasn't fair at all.  
  
It was a bit of a relief, then, that the President didn't seem invested in what her boss was saying. She looked Madge over from head to toe, her face impassive, her expression revealing nothing of what she was thinking. "And she's qualified?" she asked him, though she sounded more like she was just humoring him rather than being truly interested.  
  
"I have taught her everything I know," her boss assured her, affectionately squeezing Madge's shoulder while smiling down at her. Madge decided she couldn't be upset with him, even if he had presented her as a candidate for another job without consulting it with her. He clearly only wanted the best for her and she couldn't begrudge him that. She was lucky to be working for someone so nice.  
  
President Coin's eyes slanted toward her again. "And how long have you been working here?" she asked curtly.  
  
"Um, four weeks, ma'am," Madge replied, knowing too well that such time sounded like hardly enough for her boss to teach her "everything he knew," but she wasn't about to lie to the President for a job. If the woman thought that was too little experience, it only reinforced Madge's belief that the promotion should go by seniority. She was just a newbie, really.  
  
Her boss seemed determined not to let that affect her chances. "She's been with us for a short time, but Madge here is very competent and dedicated to her job." He leaned forward a little, as if voicing a secret he wasn't supposed to divulge. "She's also the daughter of the Mayor of District Twelve, may he rest in peace." Madge tensed up at the mention of her father's position. She did not appreciate using that fact in her favor, nor someone else doing it for her. And she certainly hadn't been expecting it now that her father was dead and held no influence anymore.  
  
She held back the urge to take back her boss's words, knowing that was a conversation to be had in private with him and not in front of the President. Unfortunately for her, it seemed that small detail was the one that finally made President Coin actually show an interest in the conversation.  
  
Her boss noticed that, as well. "In fact, she served as his personal assistant for quite a few years," he added, his eyebrows rising on his forehead as if emphasizing his point. "I assure you, Madge is very well-versed in the complexity of the daily schedule of a high-ranking public officer. As well as the discretion it involves."  
  
The President looked at her again, and this time her stare was contemplative, as if measuring her against her employer's words. Finally, she nodded. "Very well. Please be at my office tomorrow at 0700 hours, miss Undersee. You'll be on probation for the first two weeks." And with that, she turned on her heel and started walking out of the office.  
  
Madge knew it would be rude to be snappish to someone so important, but she had to say something before the woman left. Becoming her father's assistant made sense because she already knew his schedule and the tasks he had to perform so well, but she knew it wasn't the same for every public officer, so she didn't think that give her an advantage over any other potential candidate. Plus, she didn't want the job if she had to use her father's name to get it. She had to say something.  
  
Just as she had been about to protest, the President beat her to the last word. "Seemour, please show her how to send the schematics I just gave you. They need to reach the squad within the hour." And as the woman left the room, Madge realized: this way, she could help. If she took this job, she didn't have to simply watch as things happened around her anymore. She could be involved. She could know things. She could help her friends.  
  
Starting with Gale. And Katniss.  
  
She had to take this job.  
  
The schematics were received shortly and correctly. Her boss took the afternoon to point out every important detail she needed to know for her new position. And promptly at 0650 hours the next morning, Madge sat outside of President Coin's office, trying to ignore the churning in her stomach that just wouldn't seem to go away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Carefully pokes head out from behind bunker-
> 
> ...I'm sorry?
> 
> I know, I know. I'm a horrible person. I have no excuse for the lack of updates, other than the writing just hasn't been happening. For months I just couldn't write anything at all for any fandoms, and when I did, chapter 37 (the same one I was struggling with since before my last update) still gave me trouble because Gale is being goddamn uncooperative. The chapter's still not finished, but I was already feeling terrible for leaving you guys hanging for so long, so I promised myself that I'd upload chapter 33 when I finished writing the first scene of 37. Yes, the first scene is the only one that's fully written. I hate myself for it. Prayer circle for my muse to come back to life, please.
> 
> That said, thank you _so much_ to anyone who took the time to ask about the status of the next update for this fanfic. You all have been so nice to me and I don't deserve it. I didn't even get any death threats! I love you all so much. I hope I haven't lost most of you with this horrid lack of updates. I can't promise that I'll update any faster, but I swear to you that I'm trying my best. I hope you all can understand that, and know that I am appreciative of every comment, every line of support and encouragement you throw my way. You guys are the absolute best.
> 
> I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Not much in the way of action, but there are some very important seeds in here that will come up later on. And reading Madge's PoV always makes me feel very light, for some reason. For the record, "Belkin" is the name of a brand of computer and smartphone accessories, and it somehow seemed appropriate for someone who works with computer code and databases all day. And can I just say, the entire Hawthorne family are shipping them so hard, y'all. I love it. ;) Next chapter's Peeta, and with it comes the introduction of one particular character I'd been waiting for a long time to write. Please cross your fingers that I'm ready to post it soon!
> 
> I know I don't deserve any reviews for this, but if you'd still like to leave a comment, you're welcome to do so and I would appreciate it so much. Also if you're into social networking, I'm on Twitter (girls_are_weird) and Tumblr (girls-are-weird), and sometimes I post snippets of future chapters there. Thanks for reading! :)


	34. Peeta: What It Takes To Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 34: What it takes to break_
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
Wait. That was all that Peeta was allowed to do.  
  
Again.  
  
When Beetee announced they found Katniss's location, that was the day he began to breathe again. From that moment he couldn't allow himself to miss a single detail, nothing that could make or break her safe return home. He talked his way into every Command briefing, every strategy meeting; short of sharing lunch with President Coin every day, there was no way he could be more informed than he already was.  
  
Whenever he wasn't in meetings, he was training. He was already an okay fighter, and had been commended on his reflexes, but the rest of it (shooting, in particular) didn't come easy to him and he hadn't been giving it all the effort he could give it before. He did his best within that one week to be as up to par as any other soldier in his unit; he knew he would have to be approved for combat by his CO before being allowed to join the rescue squad, and he wanted there to be no doubt that he was ready when the orders came.  
  
Except they never did. "Too emotionally involved," was the official reason they gave him when he kicked up a fuss, but he thought it was crap. Gale got to go on the mission, and they all knew how close he and Katniss were. Or, well, they knew Gale and Katniss were best friends since they were children. That had to mean at least some level of "emotional involvement" even to these serious, military types.  
  
(Of course a husband would rank as more "involved" than a best friend, and not for the first time Peeta felt like kicking himself for coming up with that story. But then he remembered that those propos were perhaps the only reason why Katniss was still alive, and he couldn't bring himself to regret it).  
  
Finnick had tried to explain the reasoning behind it to him. They didn't know which state Katniss would be in when they found her, so they needed someone on the mission that she could recognize and trust, to make sure she wouldn't reject them or even attack them, if the situation came to worse. Finnick said if he couldn't be there himself to get Annie out of that hellhole, at least he knew he could trust Johanna to do whatever had to be done. It was supposed to be some kind of comfort to Peeta, but the fact remained that someone else went on the mission to bring the girl he loved back, while he was left behind. Again.  
  
That was unfair to Finnick. Having the District Four Victor around really _was_ somewhat comforting, he had to admit. It might not do much to help his anxiety levels, but it was reassuring to have someone he could empathize with, at least. It made him feel like less of a sucker.  
  
When they found out that Finnick's Annie was being held in the same facility where they were holding Katniss, Finnick had all but promised Peeta his firstborn if he could help him make sure the squad to rescued her as well. Not that he needed to even ask; Peeta knew Annie was an innocent, and he could never be okay with Katniss being rescued at her expense. So he and Finnick, along with Haymitch, actively campaigned to have Annie added to the squad's list. Or, well, as "actively" as Haymitch could manage. The forced sobriety hadn't exactly made him more amenable to other people.  
  
They were surprised by the fact that it didn't take much effort on their parts. But soon enough Peeta understood that was not because Coin felt any sort of pity for her, but because Annie Cresta was one more Victor in the "this is what the Capitol does to the people they claim to like; imagine what they would do to _you_ " list. And Coin wanted to have as many of those as she could get on her side. Not people, just figureheads. Poster children for a rebellion that was sounding less and less humane by the day, and that bothered him greatly.  
  
But he could at least see Katniss come back safely. Maybe even that very day.  
  
The brass had spent the entire last two days ensconced with Coin in Command, and none of the Victors, not even Haymitch, were allowed into their sessions. Purely tactical, they said. Peeta wished he could at least hear what they were discussing, know how certain their chances were of getting Katniss out of the Capitol's clutches unharmed. His only source of information at the moment were the daily mission reports, and they didn't really disclose that much. On the other hand, this also meant he didn't have to attend training, and _that_ meant he had a lot of free time to think. And worry.  
  
The mission report that morning announced that the squad was slated to go in at sundown that day. He wasn't sure if that meant sundown their time or sundown Thirteen time, but either way he had resolved to wait down at the hangar. Madge had approached him after breakfast to let him know she could have him moved to the second dinner shift if he wanted. His feelings were probably completely transparent to everyone at that point, if Madge had recognized his plan to wait in case the squad made it out quickly and were able to get to Thirteen later that night. Or maybe she had the same thought herself. Either way he appreciated the gesture, though he wasn't planning on having dinner, really, in either shift.  
  
Finnick had joined him about an hour into his vigil, and there they sat, backs against the metal back wall of the hangar, as the sun went down. They were mostly silent, Finnick knotting and unknotting his trusty rope while Peeta tried not to lose himself in worst case scenarios. After about the fourteenth time Peeta shifted his position to make himself more comfortable, Finnick glanced his way, a barely-there smirk on his lips. "Here," he said, and extended the hand that was holding the rope toward him. "It'll help you relax."  
  
Peeta looked down at the piece of rope, wondering how such a thing could help him at a time like this. Finnick seemed to misread his expression, however, because he commented: "I can get you one of your own some other day, but for now just use mine. Look." He showed Peeta a few easy knots (he knew a lot more than they had been taught in training, that was for sure), and then handed him the rope again.  
  
The blond stared at the object with hesitance, not certain what good it would do. But he figured if it worked for Finnick he might as well try it, so he started knotting and unknotting, just as he saw Finnick do. It took him a few tries to get his first District Four knot right. He had to admit it at least distracted him from the numbness in his legs and butt from sitting too long.  
  
After a few more minutes of being quiet, save for some tips on how to make the knots better, Finnick deemed him competent enough and leaned his back against the wall, closing his eyes. He let out a deep sigh. "You look a lot calmer than I feel," Peeta commented, frowning down at the piece of rope in his hands. If that thing had some sort of magic power that calmed people down, he should've asked Finnick about it weeks ago.  
  
The older man let out an unamused chuckle. "Oh, believe me, I'm worried sick," he admitted, sounding casual at first glance, but Peeta could tell he really meant it by the way he faltered a little on the last word. "But I know there's nothing I can do right now, so it won't do to stress myself out to an early grave before I get to see her again."  
  
Peeta nodded. He understood, though he thought it was easier said than done. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this... all this waiting," he admitted as he struggled to untie the last knot he made. Finnick didn't respond. He didn't even open his eyes. "Hey, Finnick," he started again. Now that the silence was broken he didn't really want to go back to it. "What you said the day of the bombing... about how Snow can use the people we love to hurt us... is that what he's doing with Annie?"  
  
Finnick slowly opened his eyes, his expression darkening as he did. When he spoke, his voice came out hoarse, like it was a struggle just to get a single word out. "Yeah," he said. Simple, sobering. "I'm sorry about that day, by the way," he said a heartbeat later, seemingly shaking himself out of the dark place his mind had run off to. "I... I panicked." He was still very serious, but not tense, as he pushed himself backwards to sit straighter against the wall.  
  
"It's okay," Peeta replied. He didn't blame him for being scared, so really there was no apology needed.  
  
Finnick turned his head to look at him. "How much have I told you about Annie?" he asked. When Peeta relayed what little he knew about the girl, Finnick took a deep breath and continued speaking. "Well, after she won her Games, she went back to Four and lived with Mags. It wasn't a good idea for her to be alone, and Mags was the only person I trusted to care for her."  
  
"Why didn't she live with you?" Peeta asked. As far as he understood, Finnick and Annie's relationship was the real deal. They loved each other, had for quite a while, and they both knew it. Surely they were past the idea of living in separate residences, after so many years.  
  
"I have to... I spent most of my time in the Capitol. I was only in Four a few weeks at a time," he responded, almost like he was trying not to say too much. Peeta was about to ask why that was, but Finnick seemed to anticipate the question with a shrug. "It's the price I had to pay so they'd leave her alone."  
  
Peeta thought maybe he understood what he meant. Being a Victor was a very big deal, and there were always rumors going around that the Capitol made the most use of any talents they might have, whether they wanted it or not. Haymitch had never really gotten much attention from the Capitol because he was a drunk and an embarrassment, but he'd seen more than enough glimpses of Finnick on television through the years to know the man pretty much lived with a camera crew following him around. That couldn't have been easy.  
  
He had to admit, initially he had thought Finnick was nothing more than an unrepentant player, what with the endless rotation of women by his side and the way he seemed to enjoy the attention. But now he almost felt guilty for thinking that way; knowing that all that time, all he wanted was to be back in Four with the woman he loved, meant that surely those Capitol flings were nothing more than a chore imposed on him. A pretense.  
  
Did everyone who was touched by the Games end up having to live a lie? Even he was, and he wasn't a Victor.  
  
"It was worth it, though," Finnick continued, snapping Peeta out of his reverie. "Every time I went back home, I only got a short time with Annie before I had to go back to the Capitol... Moments. Just moments. But those were the moments I lived for."  
  
That, Peeta could _definitely_ understand. He remembered the last time he spoke to Katniss, how beautiful her smile had been, the very first smile she ever gave him. How warm her pillow was, that night they slept on the same bed on the train, and how it smelled like her, just as he imagined the fresh air in the woods might smell like. How her silver eyes grew softer whenever she spoke about her sister.  
  
Yes, the small moments. Those were the ones that let him know all this waiting was worth it.  
  
"And when news came that they had captured her," Finnick continued, apparently not noticing that every phrase he uttered resonated with Peeta, "I just..." He sighed again. "Annie's circumstances are not exactly the same as Katniss'," he finished, somewhat disgruntled.  
  
Peeta scoffed. "Yeah, because Annie didn't piss off the President of Panem on national television."  
  
"Hey, you knew she was a firecracker when you went and fell in love with her," Finnick retorted, pointing a finger at Peeta, mock-accusingly. Peeta almost wanted to say that he didn't; after all, he fell for her that day he heard her sing, and he barely knew anything about her back then. But as his crush grew, over the years, he began to notice her fiery personality and that only made him love her more. So he thought it best to remain quiet.  
  
Finnick shook his head. "No, what I meant is... they can't possibly get anything out of Annie, not like they can with Katniss. They kept Katniss alive because they needed her for something. But there's nothing Annie can do for them. She's not... she's not well enough to do anything for them." He ran a hand over his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes for a second, like he had a headache. It was only the second sign of nervousness Peeta had seen from him that day.  
  
"I don't know if you know this, but since her Games, she hasn't been... quite there. Mentally, I mean." Peeta frowned as he thought about that. The very few times he'd seen Annie on television, she'd seemed almost skittish, as if she was expecting the wind to pick up and blow her away. And whenever the cameras focused on her, she appeared to be staring off into the distance, like she wasn't really aware that anything was happening around her. Was that what Finnick meant? "And I've never told her about any of this," Finnick continued. "About the rebellion. I wouldn't put her at risk like that."  
  
"Then why did they take her?" Peeta asked the obvious question.  
  
"Because they can," was the Victor's reply. He swallowed hard, like his throat was suddenly dry. "I would do anything for Annie. _Anything_. And Snow knows that. If they can't stop what we've set in motion, then their only way out is to bring _us_ down. Each of us, one by one. If there's one thing Snow knows how to do, it's destroy lives— trust me on that one." He paused, with a grimace, and once again Peeta wondered what Finnick's life had really been like. Of course, having to be in the Hunger Games was a horrible ordeal, no doubt about it, but whenever the man let these little bits of information slip, Peeta got the feeling his grudge against Snow was a lot more personal than that.  
  
Finnick continued speaking. "He's holding Annie's life in his grasp because the uncertainty and fear might just be enough to break me." With that, he turned to Peeta, his expression grave. "It's just the same with you and Katniss," he said this like it was a fact. And for Peeta, it was. "So... what would it take to break you, Peeta Mellark?"  
  
Peeta considered the question; every possibility lodged itself in the bottom part of his heart, heavy so that it felt like he couldn't breathe. So many horrible things could happen to Katniss, so many fears that had crossed his mind since the moment he last let her out of his sight, that he couldn't fathom one thing being worse than the other. Every second Katniss was away from him already felt like the straw that broke the camel's back, and his soul was so weary he felt like things couldn't possibly get any worse, even though his mind assured him it could.  
  
It was an impossible query to answer, and he could see Finnick wasn't expecting him to. "I..." he started, now feeling like he was the one with a knot in his throat. "I'm just... I feel like I've been on the edge, ever since I got here. Maybe even before that."  
  
"In what way?" his fellow rebel asked, not confused or curious, like he had no idea what Peeta meant, but instead it was like he understood; like he knew there were so many things, so many feelings that could be pushing him to the brink at that point. Too many.  
  
He shook his head and tried to explain. "It's like... I'm just angry. All the time. It's... it's so strange, feeling this way. I'm not like this, usually. At all. But so much stuff is happening and I can't do anything about it, and it's just... it's killing me." He shrugged lightly before adding: "And the worst part is that I don't even know who I'm really mad at: Snow, Coin, myself... everyone."  
  
He turned to look at Finnick out of the corner of his eye. The bronze-haired man wasn't looking at him; he was looking down at his hands in his lap, as if he missed the weight, texture and security of his piece of rope. Still, Peeta could tell he was listening. He offered no comment, because how could he attempt a solution for the problem when Peeta himself couldn't suss out his own mess of emotions? But he was listening. And that was okay, because that's just what Peeta wanted: someone to listen. He didn't know what Finnick had been through and he wasn't going to pry, but he was glad he decided to open up to him about this. He needed to get it off his chest, and if anyone in Thirteen could understand, it was Finnick.  
  
He took a deep breath and spoke again. "I... I can hardly remember a time in my life when I didn't love her," he admitted. People said one can't miss what one never had, but the heavy feeling in his heart begged to differ. He would give anything to just know Katniss was alive. That she was okay. That she could be happy. "And I don't know what I'm going to do if anything happens to her." His voice thinned out, as if saying the words alone was enough to make it real. The sound still echoed off the stone walls of the hangar. "So... maybe I'm already broken."  
  
Finnick let out an unamused chortle at that, but not in a way that made Peeta feel that he was making fun of him, or mocking the way he felt. He moved forward, leaning away from the wall and leveling his weight against his knees, before clapping a hand on Peeta's shoulder. "You're not, man. Believe me, if you're worried you may be... then you're not."  
  
Peeta wasn't so sure, but he appreciated the sympathetic gesture nonetheless. Finnick sighed, sneaking a look at the clock that was high on the wall a little to the right of where they were sitting. "The second dinner shift's almost over. You think this is going to happen tonight?"  
  
"I don't know," Peeta responded, resigned. "But I don't think I could eat until we know something."  
  
"I get you," Finnick shot back, with something of a flinch. "I'm not feeling too hot right now either." It crossed Peeta's mind that this might be the first and last time such a phrase ever came out of Finnick Odair's mouth, but he didn't mention it out loud. Neither of them were really in the mood for jokes.  
  
They sat there, in silence, for a few minutes more. There wasn't much more to say; it was just a question of when those doors would open and that hovercraft would land, hopefully bringing the girls they loved back to them. The quiet remained until a metallic-sounding motion broke it; unfortunately for them, it didn't come from the hangar doors, but from the elevators in the back of the room. Footsteps came closer until Cressida's tattooed, spiky-haired head poked around the corner. "Hello. I've been looking for you all over. Should've known you'd be here."  
  
The two of them turned to look at her, attentive. She could bring news from the squad. "Thought I'd let you know not to wait," she explained. "There were some inconsistencies with the guard rotation, so they decided not to go in tonight. You might as well just go back inside. They'll try again tomorrow."  
  
Peeta didn't know how to feel about that. On one hand, he had the certainty that nothing had gone wrong, and Katniss could still be rescued. On the other hand, it was one more day she had to spend in captivity, and most likely in suffering. But from what little he'd been allowed to see of the strategy meetings, he understood if they had decided to postpone the operation, it was because it had greater chances of success the next day. This was a good thing, or so he kept telling himself.  
  
Cressida had turned to Finnick while Peeta was busy making these mental observations. "Finnick, if you're still up for that propo we were talking about last time, we were hoping maybe we could film it now." In reply, Finnick ran a hand over his face and then nodded, making a show of standing up and stretching. He let Peeta know he didn't mind if he came to watch the filming of the propo. He'd been around for enough of Peeta's, anyway.  
  
The blond shook his head. "Nah. I want to go to bed early, to be well-rested for tomorrow. Besides," he looked up at the clock on the wall, "if I hurry up, I can still make it to dinner. Now that I'm not worrying about the mission, it hit me that I _am_ actually pretty hungry." With that, Finnick patted Peeta's upper arm as if saying goodbye, and followed Cressida back to the elevators.  
  
Peeta did manage to get down to the dining hall before dinner was over. He picked up the last of the potato salad and a couple of (not very good) dinner rolls. He tried his best to ignore people's stares as he made his way around the tables. He waved hello to Greasy Sae— he liked the older lady and admired her dedication to helping out; she usually had kitchen duty during the first shift so she only got to eat in the second one. But that was the extent of his interaction with people... he was too distraught to deal with pity or compassion at that point. He decided on a table to the back of the room and sat down on the side facing the wall.  
  
He was about halfway done eating (and the rolls were really, really not good— he knew he'd never get used to it, and that was saying a lot as he'd been living on stale bread for most of his life), when he heard someone approach his table. "Hi, Peeta," came a soft, if slightly squeaky voice. A familiar one, though he hadn't heard it in a long while.  
  
"Oh, hi... Delly," he found himself replying. For a moment he had been aggravated by the mere fact that she had approached him— if there was anyone in the whole country who was the epitome of unsolicited compassion, it was Delly Cartwright, and he didn't know if he could deal with that at the moment. But that feeling was fleeting; Delly was his friend, and he'd known her since childhood. He knew she was just such an inherently happy person that whenever she saw someone who wasn't, her immediate reaction was concern. And it was such genuine concern, he would hate to hurt her by rejecting her presence.  
  
"Um, can I sit with you?" she said, with a small smile, gesturing to the chair right beside his. Peeta assented, and so she sat, pushing the chair forward so she could lean her elbows against the table.  
  
He noticed she didn't have any food with her, and thought this was curious. "Why are you down here this late? Do you usually eat in the second shift?" he asked her. This would explain why he hadn't seen her around much since the refugees from Twelve got in.  
  
She nodded. "Yeah. Well, sort of," she amended quickly. "I should be in the first shift, but my boyfriend isn't. Um, he's apprenticing in plumbing?" She posed it as a question, maybe because she wasn't sure if Peeta knew her boyfriend or not. He didn't, so the extra information was welcome. "Anyway, he's scheduled for the second shift, so I asked Madge if she could change mine... you know, discreetly," she added, in a sheepish tone. Peeta almost snorted; that was probably the most mischievous thing Delly had done in her entire life.  
  
She chuckled before continuing. "We were almost done when you came in. I told him to go on while I said hi to you..." She laid a hand on Peeta's forearm, which was still holding onto his table knife. "We haven't spoken in a while."  
  
That was true, and it made him feel guilty. He'd caught glimpses of her in the corridors, and waved hello a couple times, but he was always busy going in and out of meetings and training and such, so he never got a minute to talk to her. Now he felt bad about that. She was his oldest friend, and he'd been so preoccupied with... everything... that he hadn't even given a thought to the fact that she had also just gone through something traumatic. Some friend _he_ was.  
  
"You're right," he cleared his throat, "I've been busy." She gave him a look, and he could almost hear her think _Understatement of the Century_ , because of course she'd seen him on television and standing with the higher-ups and being called to Command. But he wished he could tell her it had all been nothing but a lot of waiting. "So, how have you been?"  
  
"Good," she responded with another nod. "Well, at least as good as I can be after... after what happened back home." She ended the sentence abruptly, and Peeta knew she didn't feel comfortable bringing up the bombing. He couldn't imagine what that must've been like.  
  
From the way her expression fell and her eyes watered, he knew without a doubt that she had lost someone that day. "Your family... did they..."  
  
She blinked a few times, as if to keep the tears at bay. "Uh, well, my brother made it out," she explained after a bit of a pause. "Luckily neither of us were in town when it happened. My parents didn't make it, though," she finished, looking understandably somber.  
  
He put his fork down on top of his plate and put his hand over hers, where it rested on his left arm. "I'm so sorry, Delly," he told her, and of course he meant it. The Cartwrights had been some of the nicest people he'd ever met, friendly and supportive and generous, and several times when he was growing up and his mother's ugly side reared its head, he had wished he could be part of their family instead of his own. He knew how much Delly loved them, and they didn't deserve to go that way. No one in Twelve did.  
  
"Thank you," she murmured. "I'm sorry about your family, too."  
  
He responded in kind because, well, what else could he do? After that they fell into silence— not a contemplative one, like it had been with Finnick, but actually kind of uncomfortable, which Peeta felt bad for. He'd never had any trouble talking to Delly... not before all of this happened.  
  
He picked up his fork again but before taking another bite he wondered if he should ask her something else about her life in Thirteen. Maybe about her boyfriend? Her job? She had been a teacher back in Twelve and Madge had mentioned she was also working in the Education Department here in Thirteen. He should ask about that, but he felt the mood had shifted too far to go back to lighter topics. He was afraid he simply wasn't in the right frame of mind for small talk.  
  
But just then, Delly solved his predicament for him. He really shouldn't have been surprised; Delly was who she was, and there was an inherent warmth to her that always shone through, even in the saddest moments. Perhaps especially in the saddest moments.  
  
She sidled her chair closer to his and nudged his shoulder with hers. "So," she started again, sounding somewhat hesitant. "Should I be angry that you didn't invite me to your wedding?"  
  
He looked at her, and for a second wasn't sure if she was joking. Her tone had sounded perfectly innocent, and the fleeting thought crossed his mind that she might actually be disappointed to not be included in what any regular person would consider a momentous occasion in a friend's life. But then he saw the amusement in her blue eyes, and realized she was only teasing.  
  
And that's when it hit him. How absurd this whole thing was.  
  
He couldn't help but laugh. It started out slowly, with just a few chuckles bubbling up as the words registered in his mind, but little by little the intensity grew until his shoulders were shaking to the point he started bending forward until his hair was nearly touching his food. By his side he heard Delly start laughing too, but he could barely see her because by then he was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes. And yet it wasn't hysterical; instead it was a mirth that felt like it came from the very center of his soul. It felt cathartic, maybe even more than his talk with Finnick had.  
  
By the time they managed to calm down, the back of his head was throbbing painfully from laughing so hard, but he still wouldn't trade the feeling of relief he felt for anything. He wiped the last of the moisture in his eyes with the heel of his hand and, still grinning, he threw an arm around Delly's shoulder. "Oh, Delly. Please never change," he said, still a little winded. His friend rewarded him for that comment by giving him a bright smile and throwing her arms tightly around his neck.  
  
He felt lighter, much lighter than he had in weeks. And it was then that he realized that he wasn't completely broken yet. Not by far. And because of that, he had to believe they'd rescue Katniss. There were no _ifs_ about it, they simply had to get her back. And they would, he was sure of it.  
  
One more day of waiting. Just one more day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuck in a characterization hole for over a year. Still trying to figure it out.  
>   
> But regardless... no excuses. Here you go. Hope you like!


	35. Katniss: The Uncertainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 35: The Uncertainty_
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
It was a very loud sound that finally pulled Katniss out of her chemically-induced stupor. In the back of her mind she knew it could only be an explosion, but even so it sounded muffled to her ears, as if she were submerged in water, and even though her instincts were screaming at her that this wasn't normal, she couldn't will herself to move. It was as if her mind could recognize some upcoming danger, but her limbs simply couldn't respond to that message.  
  
More explosions followed, as well as intermittent clanging sounds she dimly recognized as gunfire. The sound of hurried running in front of her cell she only distinguished because her ear was resting against the concrete wall. She didn't know how long it had been since the sounds started, but it felt like a really long time to her. She closed her eyes. She felt like her head was full of air— like she was floating on a gas bubble, and although nothing hurt, being completely numb wasn't very pleasant either.  
  
Some indeterminate amount of time later, she heard a screeching sound, like something heavy being dragged against the ground. The noise grated on her ears. _A door? Is that a door opening?_ A moment later she felt something— someone?— grab her by the shoulders. She wanted to run away, but she couldn't. Her body wouldn't respond. And then, through the muddled maze that were her disjointed thoughts, a voice broke through.  
  
"...atnip? Catnip, can you hear me? Damn it, please be okay."  
  
She recognized that voice. At first she couldn't tell who it was, but she knew it was someone familiar to her. She felt hands lightly patting her cheeks as if to get her to open her eyes, and she wanted to, she really wanted to, to get to see the person, but it took so much effort.  
  
The person— a man— kept trying to get her to react for a minute, his hands momentarily at her wrists, cold fingers against her neck, and while she couldn't piece together why that was, part of her simply knew he was checking if she was okay. If she was alive. Was she? She wasn't sure.  
  
She only managed to open her eyes, half-lidded, as he picked her up in his arms. Her head lulled back against his shoulder and she could see the olive skin of his neck, and dark hair peeking out from under his helmet. _Catnip_ , the word finally hit her. Only one person ever called her that. "G— Ga—" she attempted to speak, but her throat was rough, perhaps from screaming so much, or dehydration, or perhaps for being quiet for so long. "G— Gale...?"  
  
"Easy there, Catnip," he murmured her way, the vibration from his deep voice careful but comforting. "I've got you. And I'm getting you out of this hellhole."  
  
She wanted to nod, but she didn't have the strength to do so, and her eyes closed again of their own accord, pulling her into the confusing limbo of unidentified sounds and sensations she'd been in earlier. She felt a jostling sensation that she recognized as him starting to move, and she could tell from behind her closed lids that wherever they were, it was more illuminated than before. Had he taken her out of her cell? Were they outside?  
  
She could pick out one more sound from the sea of noise that surrounded her: echoing steps. Close, probably. "Oy, Hawthorne!" came a second voice. Higher-pitched. A woman. "They need you back at Cresta's cell. They can't get the lock open." There was a pause, and the steps halted as well. "Okay, she's in one piece. What's wrong with her? Did they mess with her brain or something?"  
  
"I think she's drugged up," Gale replied, and only then did the thought cross Katniss's mind that the woman might've been talking about her. Was that why she couldn't move, could barely understand what was happening around her? Had they drugged her? Gale continued speaking, oblivious to the spinning thoughts in Katniss's head. "And I'm not going back in until I know she's safely out of this place."  
  
"Well, I'd rather be back getting Annie out but I'm not one of the brains, now am I? You are," the woman replied in an urgent, snappish tone. She felt Gale's hold on her tighten. "We don't have time to argue. You let me know which way to take, I'll make sure she gets out. You go back to the cells."  
  
Katniss zoned out for a second but she thought Gale must've agreed with the woman, because next thing, there was something solid under her feet again. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't hold her up, and she slumped back against a smaller, thinner body. "Take the 5a, then the 35 and then the 21," Gale said, from somewhere beside her. "Should be clear." Then, steps— heavier this time.  
  
She felt her arm being pulled and propped against something as someone else's wrapped around her waist, holding her up. "Does Goldilocks know he's mooning over this one, I wonder?" the woman muttered under her breath. "Because that can't be a fun place to be in." Katniss barely heard it, and couldn't respond even if she had known what the woman was talking about.  
  
They moved through what felt like very tight corridors, Katniss being more dragged than helped up; her legs were too weak and too twitchy to coordinate appropriately, and she was little more than dead weight. She kept fading in and out of consciousness, with only brief moments of clarity, in which she wondered where she was, where Gale was, why he had left her, where she was being taken and by whom. "Wh— Who...?" she attempted in one of those halfway-to-lucid moments.  
  
She felt the woman's hair tickle her face as she responded. "Oh, you know who I am, I'm sure," she said, almost patronizingly. "But don't worry, I'm not about to hack at you with my axe... yet." Katniss wasn't aware enough to take her words seriously, _if_ she had even meant them that way.  
  
She faded out so deep that she barely felt the jostling of their movements, but eventually the brightness of the light outside permeated through her closed eyelids. The must have covered a long distance, as she could hear noise again. Running. Screaming. Shots.  
  
She heard the woman curse under her breath. "You better be worth all of this, Brainless," she said, and Katniss felt herself be hastily lowered down to the floor, her back against something freezing cold. That was as much as she could register before she found herself awash in a sea of confusion. And then, darkness.  
  
When she finally came to, it was with a start. Breath ragged and heart in her throat. She tried to place her surroundings but everything looked different, and she had a hard time sifting through disjointed flashes of memories; the whole thing must have been real— pain, too much pain for it not to be— but at the same time it could've been just a horrible nightmare. Both choices were terrifying to her.  
  
She looked around at the grey walls— not cold concrete, like in her cell, but rather cold metal. Her vision was no longer hazy from the drugs but she still felt so weak, she could barely raise her head to inspect her surroundings. It was only when Gale leaned into her field of vision that she realized he was there, by her bedside. And that could only mean they'd gotten her out.  
  
Gale answered her question without her even having to ask; he knew her that well, he could tell from the expression on her face. "Hey," he started. "You're safe. We got you out. They can't hurt you anymore, Catnip." She wished she could feel reassured. She _was_ glad to see him, to a point that the relief was like a physical wave spreading through her soul. But no matter how hard she tried to tell herself that it was over, that she was safe, it felt like a temporary respite; she still couldn't shake the feeling that she was going to die.  
  
She tried to ask him what happened, where they were, but she couldn't; if her head felt like a train had rolled over it, her throat felt ten times worse. He noticed. "Don't try to talk," he told her, opening and then handing her a bottle of water. "There were explosions. The medics said you inhaled a lot of smoke, and your throat might be raw for a while." He helped her sit up, carefully so she wouldn't pull out the IV that she noticed was hooked to her forearm, and then sat beside her, telling her everything.  
  
Prim was alive. Unconscious, but alive. So were Peeta, and Madge, and Gale's family. But Twelve was gone. Snow razed it. Burned it to the ground. She didn't have a home anymore.  
  
Her entire district was gone, and it was her fault.  
  
District Twelve had not been part of the rebel movement. They didn't have any sort of organized insurgence. They didn't even know Thirteen was still out there. They had simply been going about their lives, forced to watch the horror of the Games on television every night, hoping to survive to see the next day. There was no reason to eliminate them. No reason at all, save for the fact that they had borne one stubborn girl who was so scared of losing her sister that she punched a Peacekeeper and unknowingly set off a rebellion.  
  
She didn't know what to make of Thirteen, and the idea of being thrust into such an unknown made her anxious. Maybe that was unfair of her. Her fellow squad members had all been strong, brave people who gave their lives for a cause they believed in while Katniss could do nothing but cower in a cell; they had done nothing to arouse her suspicions and neither should their home.  
  
Also, from the way Gale talked about the place, she could tell it meant a lot to him— and she could imagine, to the rest of her fellow District 12 residents— that Thirteen had given them shelter and food when their own district was obliterated. As far as she could tell, all the survivors were being treated fairly and were now living in better conditions than they had been before. She should feel grateful, too.  
  
Except she didn't. She could still hear President Snow's words bounce around in her mind: _They're not doing this to help you, or they would've done so decades ago._ She couldn't help but ponder on the veracity of that statement. In her experience, people didn't do things for no reason; Thirteen had extended a helping hand to the people of Twelve, but what did they want from them in return?  
  
These thoughts weighed heavily in her mind even after Gale left so she could "rest up," which she knew was just an excuse; spending who knew how many weeks under sedation had given her enough rest to last a lifetime, and they both knew it. It was just a way for him to let her process all this information on her own. It must've been clear from her expression just how overwhelmed she was.  
  
But the more she thought about everything, the more she hoped not to have to think about it anymore. She was out of Snow's clutches at last and the rebellion was happening with or without her. She didn't care what Snow did. She didn't care what Thirteen's intentions were. All she had to focus on at the moment was Prim, and getting her back to health no matter the cost.  
  
She felt the hovercraft land and dread started building up in the pit of her stomach. What if she was placed under arrest under suspicion of collaborating with Snow? What if they determined the deaths of her squad mates were her fault? What if the people of Twelve blamed her for the bombing? None of it was too much of a stretch. And what if they told her there was no way to wake Prim up? What if, despite everything that happened, she finally made it out only to see Prim die either way? She couldn't handle that. She couldn't.  
  
She stayed like that, sitting up in the little bench, knees pulled up against her chest, as people started making their way out. She could hear the medics loudly detailing patients' conditions over the sound of stretchers being wheeled down the ramp of the aircraft; Gale had told her a few of their soldiers had been injured during the operation, including Johanna Mason, who was the woman who got her out of Snow's prison.  
  
The hubbub quieted down after a few minutes, but Katniss didn't move from her position until a medic popped his head in and offered to help her out. Gale had been called to an emergency debriefing she likely wouldn't see him again until later, but the medic had been assigned to take her to the infirmary and make sure she got looked at by a proper doctor. She didn't have much choice except to comply; she couldn't very well stay holed up in the hovercraft forever.  
  
And so, she walked out of the craft, trying to stubbornly lean her weight more on her IV pole than on the medic. She had just taken the last step off the ramp and onto solid ground when she finally looked up and around the place— and there he was.  
  
Peeta.  
  
Their gazes met across the room, and her feet halted on their own just as his started moving forward. The hangar was far from empty; all around she could see soldiers reuniting with their families, medical personnel giving quick check-ups to those with non-severe injuries, and a throng of onlookers who seemed to be there for no particular purpose other than to sate their curiosity. But she kept her eyes on Peeta as he nudged people out of the way to get to her. The closer he came, the better she could see his eyes, wide and blue and swimming with some unidentified, intense emotion.  
  
He came to a stop a few feet away from her, looking her over as if reaching for visual confirmation that she wasn't hurt in any way. She held her IV pole a little tighter. She had no idea what to say to him. Perhaps she should tell him how relieved was to see him again, to know for certain that he was still alive and well; or demand to know how he knew so much about her past and why he put himself on the government's radar just to help her. Perhaps she should thank him for getting her sister out of the arena, or simply pretend she'd never seen that video clip and greet him with a silent nod like she would any other acquaintance.  
  
But none of these things ever left her mouth. It's like the words were stuck in her throat, and he wasn't saying anything either. Was he feeling the same awkwardness she was feeling? She couldn't read his expression. He was just staring at her, and it made her feel uncomfortable, like his gaze could somehow scorch her skin as it swept over her.  
  
Finally, he took a wide step forward, a breathless "Katniss," which she barely heard over the murmur of people around them, falling from his lips. She opened her mouth to attempt to say something— anything— but her intentions were cut off as he threw his arms around her shoulders, drawing her close to him.  
  
Her entire body tensed, her heart rate speeding up. In the back of her mind she felt the medic let go of her torso, but her grip on the IV pole was so tight she remained steady, or perhaps that was because Peeta was supporting her weight with his embrace. He was holding her tightly, so tightly, and he was warm. _She_ felt warm. Warmer than she'd felt in weeks.  
  
His head lowered against the side of hers, and she heard his voice in her ear. "I'm so glad you're okay," he whispered, with such emotion held in those five words that his voice shook. And then she felt something wet drop against the skin of her neck— he was crying— and the thought hit her that he really, truly, must have meant every word he said in that propo.  
  
She found herself releasing her white-knuckled grip on the IV pole, and her arms wrapped around his waist almost of their own accord. She closed her eyes and hid her face against the crook where his neck met his shoulder. For the first time since she was captured, she felt safe.  
  
It was only when they separated that she saw the cameras.  
  
There wasn't much time to say anything else even if they'd wanted to, because she was taken to the hospital bay, so she could get a proper medical examination. Peeta, as her "husband," was allowed to be there, but once the doctor declared there didn't seem to be any urgent threats to her well-being, he excused himself, saying he needed to "go pick something up." She was glad he wasn't there, though, as the physical examination was more thorough than she expected, and it was bad enough that she had to get partially undressed in front of the female doctor.  
  
She was declared healthy enough not to need to stay in the medical bay, but she was warned that she was partially malnourished and they recommended she keep the IV treatment twice a day in order to regain her strength back. She simply nodded to whatever the woman said; all she wanted was to see her sister.  
  
Finally she was led to a room just off the side of the medical bay, and there Prim was, prostrate on a hospital bed, her blond hair fanned out around her on her pillow. Katniss rushed to her bedside, a trembling hand stretching to touch her sister's face, hesitant because she was afraid this was all a dream and the moment she touched Prim, she would disappear. All through her captivity she'd been plagued with nightmares of losing Prim; it wouldn't be the first time her subconscious taunted her this way.  
  
But this time it was real. The tips of her fingers touched the young woman's brow, no longer soft and smooth as it had once been, but prickled with little scrapes that had to have been serious if they were only just healing, but at least she was there, out of the arena, where she couldn't be hurt anymore. "Why hasn't she woken up?" she asked, her throat still rough.  
  
The doctor launched into an extensive speech about physical injuries, brainwave patterns and stimulus response that Katniss didn't even try to understand. She simply stood beside Prim's bed, lightly running her hands through her sister's hair and watching her breathe, filling her soul with the reassurance that she was alive.  
  
It was only when the doctor paused that Katniss snapped back into attention, and that was only because Haymitch spoke up. "Better that she's not awake, I'd say. Doesn't hurt if she's out." The older man was sitting on a chair by the wall, feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the corner of Prim's mattress. She hadn't even noticed he was there as she came in.  
  
She had the urge to kick his feet off Prim's bed, with the excuse that it was disrespectful, but in truth she just didn't want to have to deal with Haymitch yet. She knew she'd have to, eventually, because he was the one that had gotten her involved with the rebellion in the first place, but she resented that, and at the moment she just wanted to hold onto that resentment. As it was she limited herself to scowling at him, before turning to the doctor and asking: "Would she be in pain? If she was awake now, I mean."  
  
The doctor only pondered the question for a second before responding. "Not right at this moment, no. Most of her physical injuries have already healed or are making good progress. When she was first brought here, however, yes, it would have been very painful for her to be awake."  
  
Katniss frowned. That didn't make any sense to her. If Prim was physically okay, then why was she still hooked up to all of these machines? "If she's healed, then why haven't you tried to wake her up?" she asked, almost accusingly. She couldn't help it; it hurt so much to see her sister this way, so fragile.  
  
The doctor looked down at Prim's chart, which she held in her hands, for a split second before addressing Katniss again. "The human brain is a complicated organ. Even with our current levels of technology, there's still a lot about it we can't understand. Your sister's heart was weakened by the current she was exposed to in the arena, and we think that is why she hasn't come out of the coma on her own yet: her body is protecting itself from outside stimuli her heart might not be able to handle yet. We've stopped trying to wake her up chemically, and it was decided the best course of action was to try and ease her into waking up by herself via the pacemaker."  
  
Before Katniss could ask anything else— what did she mean by "weakened," how long it would take for Prim to wake up, what her condition would be like when she did— the door to the room opened, and two people walked in. The first was a severe-looking woman with sharp, clear eyes, gray hair in a stiff haircut, and wearing a no-nonsense pantsuit and shoes that clattered loudly against the floor as she walked. "Madame President," she heard the doctor address the woman, and she understood she was about to meet Alma Coin, the President of District Thirteen. Somehow she hadn't imagined her looking quite like that from what Gale had mentioned about her.  
  
The second person was Madge. Her blue eyes widened when they fell on Katniss, and for a second she looked like she was about to rush toward her and hug her, too, but she didn't. Instead, she lifted a hand to her chest— signaling some kind of emotion Katniss couldn't quite pinpoint— and smiled at her brilliantly, if a little tearful.  
  
If the President noticed Madge's reaction to her presence, she didn't say, but she still looked unmoved enough to present a stark contrast to her friend. Katniss could remember Gale mentioning that Madge had recently taken the position of Coin's assistant; clearly this visit was not a social call.  
  
"Miss Everdeen," Coin started, "good to see the mission concluded satisfactorily." It was obvious the comment was a forced pleasantry rather than a genuine welcome; not _good to see you're alive and well_ or _good to have you with us_ , but instead, Katniss was merely physical proof that her squadron of soldiers had done what they were supposed to do. "I trust the doctor here has already informed you of your options regarding your sister's treatment."  
  
That last phrase caught Katniss's attention. She had options? "The doctor was just telling me the best thing was to wait for her to wake up on her own," she said, looking from the President to the doctor, who was now pursing her lips as if she disapproved of the turn the conversation had taken. "Is there any other possibility?"  
  
The doctor spoke up, her lips twisted in a grimace around the words. "Like I said before, your sister's physical condition is as good as can be expected after the healing period she has had since she was brought here. The best-case scenario would be for her to wake up on her own, but her heart should resist regular stimuli by this point, despite its weakened state. The chance is still relatively high that we may be able to keep her condition stable even if we induce consciousness chemically."  
  
"What does that mean?" Katniss asked, the explanation being too technical for her to comprehend.  
  
"It means we can wake her up, if that's what you prefer," it was Coin who clarified. "No procedure is completely safe. Your consent is required for any further actions that may imply a risk."  
  
"How high is the risk?"  
  
"Given her latest test results," the doctor explained, grave but confident in what she was saying, "I estimate her survival probability to be between seventy-five to eighty percent if we conduct the procedure in the upcoming weeks. Those are better odds than most patients with her initial injuries get."  
  
Katniss wasn't convinced. Eighty percent still meant there was twenty percent chance Prim might die in her hospital bed. But then the doctor added that there was no way to guess the chances of her waking up on her own— she might wake up the next day, or it might take her fifty years. Or perhaps she'd never wake up. She was physically healed enough that there was nothing critical to stop a positive upturn in her condition, she said, but they couldn't know if there was brain damage until she woke up. If she woke up. When it came to the human brain, there were no certainties.  
  
"If you would like to go through with the procedure," the doctor added, "we would need to know as soon as possible. There are certain preparations we need to make before we can attempt to induce consciousness, adjustments to her medication and intravenous treatments that will take a few weeks." The woman paused for a heartbeat. "I know this is a lot of to take in, and you can take some time to think about it, but please don't take too much time. If we wait too long, the coma might deepen so much that the chemicals could be rendered ineffective."  
  
It was an impossible decision. Wake Prim up and risk her dying, or let her stay in a coma she might never wake up from? It was overwhelming— the situation as much as the amount of information they'd thrown her way in just a few minutes— and she was expected to pick a choice so quickly? Her head swam, a throbbing in her temple from a headache that had only gotten worse since she arrived. It was almost as bad as being back in sedation, except this time it hurt.  
  
She looked around the room for someone, anyone, to tell her what to do. Haymitch was looking down at the bed, serious, a marked frown marring his features. When she turned to look at Madge, her friend's blue eyes let her know she was about as torn as Katniss felt. The doctor looked concerned, which Katniss appreciated, while Coin looked nothing except expectant, like the situation wasn't truly life or death.  
  
But then she looked down at Prim; at her sweet, soft face, her fair skin and golden hair, and couldn't help but wish she would open her eyes. She wished her sister could hug her, welcome her back, and laugh, and talk about the patients she had healed and ask about her stupid cat and just be the beautiful girl she always was. She needed that. She knew she had to make a decision.  
  
Years of taking care of her family, of not knowing where their next meal would come from, had taught Katniss to trust her instincts, especially that of survival. It wasn't always easy to find something to put on the table, but she always kept looking for ways to do just that. Taking action was better than despairing at the uncertainty. And this was no different. "Start preparing her," she finally said, her voice wavering more from the fear than because of her sore throat. "I don't know yet if I'll decide to wake her up, but you can at least start preparing her now."  
  
The doctor nodded and started writing something down on Prim's chart, while Coin assented verbally. She started typing something out in the electronic device she had wrapped around her wrist. "Miss Undersee, authorize a 25% increase in the medical budget to include any tests needed for Primrose Everdeen's recovery." Madge nodded. "Please go with the doctor and ensure that the appropriate requisitions are input as quickly as possible."  
  
"Yes, Madam President," Madge replied, and with a light nod to the doctor, the two of them left the room to work on that request immediately. Madge gave Katniss a small smile over her shoulder, which Katniss couldn't return at the moment because she still felt agitated from everything that had just happened.  
  
She had a feeling that sensation wouldn't go away anytime soon, as Coin took a step further into the room instead of walking out as Katniss had expected. "I'd like to have a word with you about the rebellion, miss Everdeen," she stated, straight to the topic she had clearly wanted to bring up from the beginning. Her tone was no-nonsense to the point it had Haymitch straightening up in his chair.  
  
"What about the rebellion?"  
  
"We have been making progress in the districts the government has already cracked down on, like Eleven and Eight," she expanded at Katniss's request. "The ones that have been punished don't need any further push into action, and have severed ties with the Capitol. In the case of the districts that are still dependent on the Capitol, they require more... convincing, let's say, to ally themselves with our cause. I'm sure you've seen at least some of our propos."  
  
Her mind immediately went to Peeta's interview, and how his seemingly heartfelt account of his feelings for her hid a message of sedition underneath. "We have determined that we need to give the districts is a symbol to rally around. Someone to inspire them to take the leap. Give a face and a voice to our message. And that must be you."  
  
Katniss swallowed hard. Did they intend for her to join the fight? Did they want her to film propos like Peeta had? She would be horrible at it. Weren't her disastrous interviews with Caesar Flickerman proof enough that she couldn't be convincing if she tried? She thought of Cinna, and felt her guilt returning in full force. The only thing she could do in front of a camera was make a fool of herself, and get people hurt because of it. This was not a good idea. "Why me?" she asked.  
  
Coin didn't hesitate. "Because you started this," she stated, and Katniss flinched. It all went back to the moment she punched the Peacekeeper, and how she wished she could go back and undo it. "Because something about you rattled Snow enough that he felt he needed to contain you," she continued speaking. "Whether he meant to or not, he made you important. That is why you must become our Mockingjay."  
  
Mockingjay. The significance was not lost on her. Mockingjays were a symbol of rebellion all on their own— proof that the Jabberjays, muttation experiments that were disgraced after they lost their usefulness, had not only survived but thrived even when the Capitol intended for them to die quietly. It was the same for her: the Capitol took her sister, the most important person in her life, and expected her to simply take it and fade away like just another victim of the Games. But she didn't. And Coin wanted the people of the districts to be reminded of that, to be inspired by that to do the same.  
  
But she couldn't. She wasn't a leader, she wasn't a symbol. Half the time she didn't even think before she did things, she just reacted in her desperation, and that's what led her to this point— it was all a string of failures, not some kind of extended appeal for attention. Surely they had so many people working on these propos, so many other ideas. "I'm not the one you need," she replied, shaking her head emphatically. They had Peeta, they had Finnick Odair, they could try something else. She wasn't the right choice for this.  
  
"Your supporters seemed to think you were when they demanded we extract you from your imprisonment," Coin declared. It was confirmed, then, that the only reason why Thirteen had even bothered sending in a rescue team to get her out of Snow's prison was because they thought she could be useful for their own purposes. She suspected as much, of course, but it was clear President Coin had no interest in even pretending it wasn't true.  
  
Katniss snuck a glance in Haymitch's direction, wanting to see his reaction to Coin's insinuation. He didn't admit anything. His narrowed Seam eyes remained fixed on Coin, making it seem like he didn't like what Coin was suggesting, but he didn't say anything to oppose it, either.  
  
"You won't have to do this on your own," the woman further explained. "You will have a team behind you, letting you know what you have to do." She would be told where to stand, how to dress, what to say, to ensure that there were no errors or loose ends; all that was required of her was to stand there and do as they said, Coin assured her. Basically they wanted her to be their revolutionary puppet. It sounded remarkably similar to _Just let him lead, less chance of you messing it up that way_ , and that made her immediately distrustful.  
  
But what really made her worry was what Coin said next. "I urge you to consider this offer, miss Everdeen. We put the lives of many good soldiers on the line to bring you here; you wouldn't want to seem ungrateful. Especially considering we're only just starting your sister's treatment." She could almost hear Snow's words reverberating in her ears: _Of course, remember I know exactly where your dear sister is right now._ It made her blood run cold.  
  
The implication in her words was unmistakable, but could they do that? If she refused to be their Mockingjay, would they stop Prim's treatment? Would they leave her in that coma forever, or even unplug her from the machines before she was ready? She took in the way Haymitch's jaw clenched and she knew they would.  
  
And that was their right, too. It wasn't their responsibility to bring Prim back to health. They only did it because of her, and just as she had been thinking while she was still on the hovercraft, she knew she owed them for it; now they were collecting payment, and she couldn't refuse. "Fine. I'll do it. I'll be your Mockingjay."  
  
Coin seemed pleased by this response; her expression barely changed, but the entire atmosphere shifted around her, and that's how Katniss knew. "Very well," the older woman said. "Plutarch Heavensbee will get in contact with you shortly, to explain all the details." And with that, she left the room, tapping her wrist communication device as she walked out the door.  
  
As the door closed, Katniss stood there, holding Prim's limp hand and feeling sick to her stomach. It was the same, it was always the same. She had only just met Coin and already she could tell how cold and indifferent she was. The woman might be a decent President; the people in her district had food, clothes, a roof over their heads and a sense of security that no other district could compare with, but that didn't make her a good person.  
  
That was the moment Haymitch chose to speak up, almost like he could read her thoughts. "You have no idea what you got yourself into, sweetheart."  
  
Katniss glared at him. He had some nerve to say that now, when he made no comment whatsoever when Coin was strong-arming her to do what she wanted. "I did it for my sister," she stated, sharply. So what if Coin had used Prim's recovery as leverage; at least her sister was going to get the medical attention she required. Becoming Coin's puppet was a small price to pay for that.  
  
"I know you did, and it was the right thing to do," he replied. His words were still somewhat mumbled even if he was clearly sober— it was almost like he didn't want anyone to overhear. Was that it? Were they being spied on here, as well? Just another hint that the Capitol and Thirteen were more alike than they let on. "But that doesn't mean it's going to be easy," Haymitch finished the thought.  
  
"I can take care of myself," Katniss assured him, resolute.  
  
"Yeah, but you're not the only one who can get hurt this time." Her glare transformed into a frown in a split second. What was that supposed to mean? It was _her_ whom Coin wanted to become the Mockingjay, and it was _her_ decision to accept. Apart from her and Prim, nobody else should be affected by that decision.  
  
Noticing her confusion, Haymitch got up off the chair with a loud exhale, and moved closer to where she was standing. "Look, we both know you and the boy aren't really married," he started. "Coin knows that, and the rebel big wigs do as well." She nodded, wondering what this was about. She had noticed Coin had called her "miss Everdeen" and imagined that was the reason.  
  
"But the rest of the country doesn't know that," Haymitch continued, "and we have to keep it that way. Being the Mockingjay includes being in love with him for the cameras. We're selling love to the districts as a reason for them to fight, and that takes more than just you, sweetheart. So you have no choice but to keep up the ruse if you want them to help your sister."  
  
Katniss blanched. What had she expected? That just because she accepted to be their Mockingjay, that they wouldn't use Peeta anymore? How stupid that thought was. Even if she became the figurehead, having Peeta in front of the cameras was too good an opportunity to pass. He was golden when it came to convincing people. And that was what they wanted, wasn't it, to convince he districts to ally with the rebellion? They would never let Peeta and his way with words go that easily.  
  
"And he'll do it," Haymitch wrapped the thought up. "That boy will put keep making himself a target if that's what it takes— for _you_. You know he will."  
  
She looked down at Prim, unable to hold his gaze. He didn't need to say it— she already knew. Peeta was just so good, so immeasurably good, that he would keep up the pretense to help Prim. But she also understood what Haymitch implied: that it wasn't merely his goodness that drove Peeta's actions... no, he would do it because he was in love with her. And she had consented to this without even asking him. She knew he would do it, but he still deserved to be taken into account for this decision. It was his life, too.  
  
It could put him in danger. She knew that's what Haymitch meant, because the thought had crossed her mind a thousand times after she saw his first propo. In trying to help her, he had given the Capitol a name, a face to persecute, and the only thing that could assure his safety would be stepping back, going back to a quiet life and not getting involved in the rebellion anymore, but he wouldn't do it. Not if there were still people in the line of fire. Not if _she_ was still in the line of fire.  
  
A knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts, and startled, she looked around the room to find that Haymitch was no longer there. She hadn't even heard him walk out. When she looked in the direction of the open doorway, she saw that it was Peeta who was standing there. Considering what she had just been thinking of, she started feeling anxious, wondering what she could even say to him.  
  
Luckily, he was the one who spoke first. "Hey," he started, giving her a small smile. "Um, what did the doctor say about Prim?" She gave him the short version of it, that they had to prep Prim before attempting to wake her up again, and he seemed to be optimistic about it. "If her chances look good, we should trust them. They know what they're doing." Given the way the doctor seemed almost reluctant before, Katniss couldn't be so sure what Peeta had just said was true. But she didn't comment.  
  
They remained silent for a few minutes, calmly watching Prim breathe. Katniss took the chair Haymitch had just emptied and moved it closer to the head of the bed, taking Prim's hand in hers as she sat down. That's when Peeta spoke up again. "Oh, before I forget, I have something for you." She watched curiously as he took a step outside, picking something up off the floor outside the room, and then popping back in. In his arms he held a large, black case— a familiar one.  
  
He handed it to her and she opened it, to find her father's bow and makeshift sheath of arrows nestled comfortably inside, looking exactly as they did when she last saw them, weeks ago. Her breath caught. "How— how did you get this?"  
  
"Before we went to the arena we were stationed in the same safe house you were in," he explained with a shrug. "I figured you'd like to have it back."  
  
He made it sound like it wasn't important, like it was no big deal, but it was. The bow and arrows weren't just one of the few things she had that still connected her to her father, but they were also her one means of subsistence and the only thing that kept her and her sister alive when their mother killed herself. The weapon was a symbol of strength, of survival, and she didn't even know how much it meant to her until she had it with her again. The relief was dizzying.  
  
But more than that, his seemingly off-hand explanation reminded her of everything he had done for her, everything he had _risked_ for her. Not only did he come with her to the Capitol, but he joined the rebellion, he went into the Hunger Games arena for her. He got Prim out. _He saved her sister_ , the person she loved most in the world.  
  
The knot in her throat grew, and she found she couldn't look at him anymore. She lowered her eyes to her lap, to the case with the bow and arrows, just to avoid the blue gaze he fixed on her. "Thank you," she croaked out, the words she owed him, the words she should've said to him so long ago now feeling wholly inadequate.  
  
He shrugged again. "It's your bow," he replied, simply. "I'm just returning it to where it belongs."  
  
She wished she could say something else, because he thought she was only thanking him for the bow but in reality she was thanking him for so much more. For the bread when they were kids, the hope that gave her the strength to find her own means of survival. For being by her side when she decided to go save her sister. For putting his life on the line to get Prim out of the arena. For keeping her alive while Snow held her prisoner. For everything. For being so wonderfully selfless. For being him.  
  
She wished she could tell him, but the words wouldn't come out.  
  
"By the way, I wanted to let you know," he continued speaking, oblivious to how uncomfortable she felt, "since we're supposed to be married and all, they, uh, they gave us a double room." Out of the corner of her eye she could see the tips of his ears were turning slightly red. "But don't worry, there are two beds—" he hurried to add. "One is officially for Prim, since she's also registered to stay with us. There's a double and a single. I can just take the single so you can sleep on the larger bed. And then, when Prim gets healthy, I can just sleep on a cot or something. It shouldn't be a problem, I don't think."  
  
She might've been amused by how flustered he got all of a sudden, but all she could focus on was the fact that he had said " _when_ Prim gets healthy" and not " _if_ ," and he said it so effortlessly, like he didn't even have to think about it, like Prim getting better was nothing but a fact. One small word that could tear down a seemingly-endless maze of uncertainty.  
  
"No, I'll... I'll just stay here with Prim," was the only thing she could say, unable as she was to look him in the eye.  
  
"Oh," he said, and this time there was no missing the disappointment in his voice. He shook his head quickly, as if trying to shake off such undertones before she could notice. "Yeah. Yeah, you can do that too. I'm sure they'd let you stay here. Finnick just sweet-talked one of the nurses into letting him stay with Annie." He let out a small chuckle. "Actually, I think he talked her into letting him sleep in Annie's bed, the woman was _that_ besotted."  
  
She finally turned her head to look at him, just as the upwards quirk of his lips from the smile he previously held was giving way to a serious expression again. His brilliant blue eyes met hers for the first time since they saw each other at the hangar. "But no one will mind, I'm sure. I mean, it's obvious he..." He paused for a moment. "He just loves her _so much_ , you know."  
  
Katniss felt her heart clench painfully at those words. With the way his voice had tapered down to a cracked whisper by the end, she couldn't help but feel that he wasn't really talking about Finnick anymore. And what could she possibly say to that? He was looking at her so intensely, it made her want to run out of the room, yet at the same time, she couldn't look away.  
  
It was he who broke their held gaze, momentarily looking down at his feet. Then he looked up again, flashing her a small, somewhat tired smile. "Alright, then. I'll let you get some rest. I'll stop by later." He gave her a light wave and turned to walk out of the room, leaving her to her thoughts.  
  
She watched as his form disappeared past the doorway, feeling a pressure in her chest she didn't know how to deal with. She was a horrible person, that much she knew. All this time she had thought the worst that could happen was Peeta putting himself in danger, _physical_ danger, to help her. She was selfish and terrified that it would be her fault if something happened to him, but in truth, that was hardly the worst pain she could cause him.  
  
But he loved her— she couldn't _not_ see it, not anymore— and because he loved her, he would go along with this charade. Because she couldn't lose Prim, he would do it. But how much must that destroy him on the inside, having to pretend to be in a relationship with a woman who didn't feel for him what he felt for her? If she were a good person, like him, she would never put him through that kind of pain. She would find another way. But she wasn't, and she couldn't.  
  
With a tremulous sigh, she closed the black case and carefully propped it up against the wall by her sister's bed, before pulling her knees up to her chest and leaning her head against the backrest of her chair. It should be easy, she thought; it should be easy to pretend to be in love with Peeta. Any other woman would fall in love with him for real in a second, she knew. But not Katniss. She couldn't love him. Maybe she couldn't love, period; she just wasn't wired that way. And he deserved so much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't paste it here, but I wrote a lengthier note a few days ago on my Tumblr. Please check it out at [girls-are-weird](http://girls-are-weird.tumblr.com/post/157876530043/re-ricochet) if you'd like to know more about the current status of this story and what's happening with it in the near future. Thanks.


	36. Madge: Moral Support

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 36: Moral Support_
> 
> __**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
>  **Rating:** Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.  
>  **Genre:** Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.  
>  **Pairings:** Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.  
>  **Canon/timeline:** Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of _The Hunger Games_. Katniss is 21.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.
> 
> **Note:** I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

* * *

_"The road to the future leads us smack into the wall. We simply ricochet off the alternatives that destiny offers."_ —Jacques-Yves Cousteau.

* * *

  
Madge had been glad when President Coin assigned her to stand in during the filming of Katniss and Peeta's propos. Ideally, she was just supposed to be there to expedite whatever Plutarch and his team needed without needing to wait for it to go through official channels all the way to Coin, but she was just happy to be involved. If anything, at least with her presence she could offer some kind of moral support.  
  
Except... moral support barely counted for anything given the disastrous direction this production was taking.  
  
"This isn't working!" she heard Katniss say for the third time in the last fifteen minutes. She slammed her custom-made bow onto the rack to the side of the room as she yelled in Plutarch's direction just as Cressida let out a disheartened "Cut!" The sound was muffled by the sound of the metal rack vibrating angrily from the jolt. "I can't do this. Nobody's going to believe anything I'm saying— this is just a waste of time!"  
  
"Katniss, you just need to focus," Cressida said. This, she had also repeated a number of times over the course of what felt like a million failed takes. "You don't have to get the words themselves exactly right. All we need is to transmit the idea that Thirteen is still active and still fighting for the rebellion. It's not that hard, we can keep trying until you feel comfortable."  
  
Katniss opened her mouth, Madge was sure to refute Cressida once again, when Peeta intervened, approaching the two women carefully. "I can do it instead of Katniss, if it makes things easier," he offered. Madge thought that was a good idea as well; from his previous propos, everybody knew he was good at it. And, much like Madge herself, he'd been doing nothing the entire time, just sitting there and cringing in accordance to Katniss's struggle with her lines. Maybe it would be good to switch things up a little.  
  
Katniss snapped her head in his direction so fast, Madge had to wonder if she would get whiplash. "No! Peeta, you don't have to do this. It's my problem, it's got nothing to do with you."  
  
He shook his head. "Katniss, you're only doing this now because I refused to do it after the bombing— it's my fault this didn't get out in time. I can take over."  
  
She looked for a second like she was going to reply harshly, but before she said anything, she shook her head energetically and started stomping her way out of the room. Peeta and Cressida tried calling her back, while Plutarch sputtered an indignant "she can't do that!" but none of that stopped Katniss when she was determined to get out.  
  
It wasn't until she was five feet away that Madge realized Katniss was coming her way. "Katniss, what—?" Her question got cut off as Katniss grabbed her tightly by the arm and started pulling her in the general direction of the exit. "Where are we going?" she asked, stumbling a little as she was all but dragged by her friend.  
  
"Command," Katniss huffed out. "You're going to tell Coin how bad I am at this, how pointless this is, and that she's going to have to get someone who's not me— _or Peeta_ ," she added hastily, "—to do this. You're her assistant, she has to listen to you."  
  
"Katniss, I don't think that's a good—"  
  
"I thought you were going to do this for your sister, sweetheart," Madge's reply was interrupted by Haymitch's gruff voice, coming from the last row of chairs near the door. Katniss stopped walking so suddenly, Madge almost ran into her by accident. They both turned to look at the man; he was leaning back on the theater-style chair, his feet crossed and propped up on the backrest of the seat in front of him.  
  
Katniss steadied her feet, letting go of Madge's arm and addressing Haymitch with steel in her eyes. "Coin only wants me because she thinks this will help get people's attention. She can't force me to do something I'll just keep messing up! That won't help the rebellion! It might even make things worse. She _has_ to see that."  
  
Haymitch lowered his feet off the back of the chair, a light "thud" coming up when they hit the ground. "Look, girl. It's no secret to anyone that you've got about as much charm as a dead slug. You know it, I know it. And Coin certainly knows it. She doesn't want you for your sparkling personality, that's for sure."  
  
"Well, what would you know of charm?" Katniss retorted venomously. Madge had never really seen them interact before, but she could see that they got on about as well as oil and water. "It's not like you've been helpful. All you've done since we started filming this morning is sit there and laugh at me instead of coming up with ideas to fix this. Some mentor you are."  
  
"I never said I was _your_ mentor," Haymitch shot at her, just as intensely.  
  
"Good, I don't want you to be," Katniss spat back. Madge discreetly looked around; it seemed like everyone who was present in the studio had stopped everything they were doing in order to watch the argument between these two, like it was some kind of interesting television program.  
  
"But I am your sister's," Haymitch continued, almost like Katniss hadn't spoken. "And I'm saying this for her: Coin's got the upper hand here; if you don't do this, then she has no reason to do anything for you either. And that's not exactly what you want with Blondie in a coma, is it?"  
  
The glare Katniss threw his way was equal parts irate and despaired. The mere idea of Prim not waking up broke Katniss a little more each day, and Madge hated seeing her friend in pain. That's why she spoke up, hopeful. "Maybe she doesn't need the medical support. Maybe she'll wake up on her own."  
  
Katniss didn't acknowledge her assertion, but Haymitch did. "She might," he admitted. "But can we really risk that?" Madge bit her lip and Haymitch probably saw the doubt in her expression. "No, we can't. And you know that better than anyone, don't you, Princess?"  
  
It was then that Katniss turned to look at her, an inquisitive expression on her face. She wanted to know what Haymitch meant, but Madge didn't want to be the one to have to say it. She didn't want to cause her friend any more pain than she already carried in her heart. Because she _did_ know; she hadn't been present for a large chunk of Katniss's conversation with Coin when the Mockingjay arrangement was made, but she'd been the one to draft the papers herself, under her new boss's orders.  
  
But Katniss's gaze was prodding her to say something. She bit her lip even harder and took a deep breath before speaking. "All of Prim's medical attention is conditional on you being the Mockingjay." Katniss didn't react; Madge could almost see her thinking _I already know that_. Madge shook her head sadly. "All of it. Even the life support."  
  
The words "life support" seemed to hit Katniss like a freight train. She could see, from the suddenly terrified look in her eyes, that she had never thought of Prim's condition in those terms. That she was only alive thanks to the machines, and if she were to be unplugged from them, there would _be_ no life to hold on to. Madge stepped closer to her friend, lifting a hand, intending a comforting gesture. "I'm so sorry—"  
  
"She can't do that," Katniss said, shrugging off Madge's hand. "Prim's just a girl. They can't just let her die like that! It's... it's _wrong_." Madge agreed with her. It was unfair, but unfortunately, she couldn't see how there was anything they could do about it but comply.  
  
Haymitch seemed to think the same way. "You have to stop thinking only of how uncomfortable you are and stick with it for now." Madge frowned at the implication that Katniss was only thinking of herself. She was the most unselfish person Madge knew. Still, Haymitch didn't exactly give her a chance to protest. "When she starts getting better you can renegotiate, but right now it's better to go with it, sweetheart."  
  
Katniss's jaw was locked tight, but Madge could see her lips trembling when she finally did speak. "Fine." She spun on her heel and went back down the stairs and to the stage where she was supposed to be filming. Everybody else scrambled into position, now that the "show" was over. As Katniss was picking up her bow from the rack, Peeta approached her, a concerned expression on his face. He said something to her, which Madge couldn't hear, but once Katniss shook her head emphatically, he went back to his seat. He still looked worried, but he didn't intervene anymore.  
  
Katniss reluctantly took her position on stage. "What is it that I'm supposed to say, again?"  
  
"Thirteen's alive and well, and so am I." It was Plutarch who provided the line, still sounding disgruntled. Perhaps he was upset he didn't think to film Katniss and Haymitch's little debate.  
  
"It doesn't have to be that literal, Katniss," Cressida intervened, being much more understanding than her producer was. "Maybe it would be easier if we just try it in a question-and-answer format, like we did with Peeta. Would you prefer that?"  
  
"Yeah, sure," Katniss mumbled, in a way that made her seem anything _but_ sure.  
  
Cressida nodded either way, and got back in position, standing near the camera that was now once again trained on Katniss's face. "So, Katniss. You were held prisoner by the Capitol for weeks, but you are now in Thirteen. You're safe now. But when you arrived here, you were met with news of the bombing in District Twelve, and later on in Thirteen as well. How did that make you feel? Does it make you nervous that President Snow can still get to us?"  
  
"I'm always afraid," was the first thing that came out of Katniss's mouth. Then she paused, shaking her head as if realizing that wasn't what she was supposed to say. "But it's— it's different, here. Thirteen can stand up to him. Snow's not dealing with a weak district anymore. He's not dealing with just a weak, hurt girl." She drew a shaky breath. "He has to be stopped. He captured me, he forced me to listen as he murdered my squad mates. And my sister, he put her in that arena and now she's on the verge of—"  
  
She cut herself off, like she was choking on her own words. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then tried again. "Prim, she's on the verge of—" But it was useless; Madge could literally see her friend crumbling before her eyes. Before Cressida could even try to veer her words in a different direction, Katniss fell to her knees, her sister's name bursting out of her in a sob as she started crying, her bow clattering as it hit the ground.  
  
Several people moved to reach out to her. Madge herself wanted to reach for her, but she was too far away to get there in time. Even Haymitch seemed moved by Katniss's obvious pain; Madge knew this because she heard him let out a sad sigh from his seat in the back row. But predictably it was Peeta who reached her first, cradling her in his arms gently, like a small bird that had fallen out of the nest. A Mockingjay that was too hurt to fly. Messalla picked up her dropped weapon as Cressida helped Peeta get Katniss to a standing position. He seemed to be whispering something to her, but Madge couldn't hear what it was. She hoped his words offered Katniss some comfort.  
  
She was wracked with silent sobs, and it took her a minute to calm down. Madge thought she was starting to feel a little better, but then she saw Katniss start shaking her head repeatedly. She could see Peeta frown, speak some more to her, but Katniss wasn't having it. She wiped her tears in a forceful manner and pushed out of Peeta's embrace, not heeding anyone's calls to come back and talk about it.  
  
She ran all the way up the stairs and past Madge— who couldn't even ask her where she was going this time— and out the door. Only a split second went by before Peeta rushed past in hot pursuit, calling out to Katniss with worry tainting his voice. Madge followed him, anxious and afraid that Katniss would do something stupid. She could hear Haymitch following behind her as well, although his steps were a lot slower.  
  
They hurried down the poorly-lit Thirteen corridors, trying to get her to stop, but Katniss was very fast. It wasn't until they turned the corner toward the hospital wing that they all realized where she was going and Madge slowed down, trying to catch her breath as Katniss burst into Prim's small room.  
  
When Madge reached the door, Rory was just getting up from the chair he'd been sitting on by Prim's bedside, clearly startled by the sudden intrusion of a distraught Katniss. "...going on?" Madge only caught the tail end of the question, but it wasn't hard to guess he thought something was wrong. Surely the tear tracks on Katniss's cheeks had to be quite alarming. "Did something ha—"  
  
"You really love her, right?" Katniss interrupted him, her voice choked from the emotion and her breath raspy from the running, but looking at him without waver, hands clenched into fists at her sides.  
  
The boy seemed confused by the question. "Katniss, what do you mean? You know I do—"  
  
But Katniss wasn't in the right frame of mind to explain herself. "Just say it!" she interrupted him again, shaking her head as if to shake unwanted noise out of mind. "Please. I just need to hear that someone—" She paused briefly, as if gathering her wits about her. "—I just need to hear it."  
  
Haymitch and Peeta observed carefully from the sidelines, Haymitch thoughtful and Peeta concerned, almost like Katniss's pain was hurting him, too. Madge could understand her friend's desperation now. Everybody who knew Prim loved her, she was so sweet and generous, it was hard not to care for her. But she had a closer bond with Katniss and Rory— special in their respective ways— and right now Katniss clearly needed to be reminded of that. That there was one other person in the world who loved Prim just as much as she did.  
  
Madge wasn't sure if Rory understood all the implications of Katniss's request, but clearly it hit him deeply as the confusion in his face slowly gave way to a broken, tired expression, his feelings raw and sincere in his grey eyes even if his voice shook when he spoke. "I love her more than anything," he stated, his composure cracking with that last word.  
  
Katniss choked back a sob and launched herself against Rory, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. He went stiff for a moment— as far as Madge knew, Katniss had never exactly burst with approval at Prim's relationship with Rory, and she was certainly not a hugger by any stretch of the imagination, so she couldn't blame him for being surprised— but little by little he started breaking down and eventually ended up crying on his sister-in-law's shoulder. He was just a boy, after all; holding all that pain inside was hard on anyone, even on a good day.  
  
Peeta wordlessly handed Madge a tissue so she could discreetly wipe her own tears, but even as he did, he wasn't looking at her; his eyes were fixed on the huddled-together forms of Katniss and Rory as they shared a moment of necessary catharsis. It was hard to look at them, knowing they were hurting so much and not being able to do anything to help.  
  
After a long while, they picked themselves up, wordlessly, and then Rory took back his spot by Prim's bed while Katniss pulled up a second chair to accompany him in his vigil. Madge thought if this brought Katniss and Rory closer together, then at least that was one good thing to come out of this mess. They could help each other get through these trying times.  
  
Prim would like that.  
  
Everybody's somber mood remained for the rest of the week, but come the weekend they actually had a legitimate reason to celebrate, and Hazelle wasn't letting anyone slink to a corner to mope when they were supposed to be having a party.  
  
"Happy birthday, Rory!" Posy exclaimed, after blowing out the candles on the cake. Everyone else chimed in after her, and the birthday boy gave all those present a cheeky smile.  
  
Apparently, this was a tradition in the Hawthorne household that they had extended when they came to Thirteen. When it came to birthdays, they rarely had money to buy a cupcake, let alone cake, but living in the Seam they usually kept candles in stock because more often than not, their power went out at night. So, blowing out the candles was more or less the only "special" thing they did on birthdays, followed by a still-modest-but-larger-than-usual dinner, and all the brothers usually passed the honor of the candles to Posy because she enjoyed it so much when she was little. Even now that she was almost ten, she got a kick out of blowing out seventeen candles in one try.  
  
At least this year they had cake. Food was very tightly rationed in Thirteen, but every citizen had the right to a small cake and an optional get-together during "reflection" hour on their birthday. Peeta had gotten permission to bake Rory's cake himself— it wasn't anything extravagant, just a small vanilla cake with honey buttercream frosting, but it looked delicious regardless. Once Hazelle handed her a plate, Madge could confirm that it tasted delicious as well.  
  
As she sat down to eat her cake with gusto, she snuck a glance at Katniss, who was sitting by herself to one side of the dining hall. Peeta had set a plate with cake down in front of her, but Katniss had barely looked at it. She had barely spoken at all since the day she broke down in front of the camera, and Madge's heart went out to her, but Katniss wasn't letting anyone in. Everybody who tried to talk to her got a glare and a harsh request to leave her alone. She wasn't letting anyone even try to comfort her, like she was forcing herself to be in a sort of limbo, just because Prim was.  
  
She was still staring at Katniss's back when Gale came up to her, plopping down on the chair right beside her as he took a bite of his own piece of cake. "I hate to say this, but _damn_ , Dough Boy can bake." He rolled his eyes. "I'm going to say it only tastes this good because I can't even remember the last time I had cake. Yeah, that's probably it."  
  
Madge had to laugh at the nickname. "I still can't believe you call him Dough Boy," she said, shaking her head in amusement. "You know, it won't kill you to admit that Peeta has at least _some_ good qualities. And this cake _is_ really good," she added, as she took her last bite of the delightfully spongy dessert. She scooped up some of the traces of frosting that were left on the plate as she asked: "Hey... have you talked to Katniss recently?"  
  
She saw Gale's eyes shift in the same direction she herself had been looking in before, toward the side of the room, where their mutual friend hadn't moved an inch. He frowned. "No. I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she wouldn't talk, and I know from experience that pushing her isn't going to get me anywhere." His mouth twisted into a grimace and Madge couldn't help but wonder what that "experience" had entailed. "What happened, anyway? I know Rory was involved somehow. I tried asking him but he just said to ask Katniss."  
  
Madge bit her lip, thinking of how best to put it so as not to alarm him too much. "She... she broke down on Wednesday, while they were filming a propo."  
  
She knew right away there was really no "best" way to put that, as Gale's eyes flashed brightly with both concern and anger, almost straight away. "What? Did someone say something to her? I swear, if that bastard Heavensbee is forcing her to do something she doesn't—"  
  
"No, no, Plutarch didn't do anything!" Madge interrupted him quickly. She knew Gale held enough animosity toward Capitol people— even those who were "on their side," so to speak— that he hardly needed any incentive to punch Plutarch in the face. She didn't want him to misunderstand, and get himself in trouble. "She just... I think this whole thing with being the Mockingjay is really overwhelming for her."  
  
"Yeah, I can't imagine it's easy for her, having to perform for them like a hand puppet," he said, grimace coming back full-force. He shoved a bite of cake into his mouth forcefully, as if he needed the sweetness to balance out some residual bad taste in his palate. "But she has to do it. We need to get the support of the districts— there's no way we can take down Snow if she doesn't do this."  
  
She looked at him, a bit confused. "It's worse than just having to 'perform,' Gale. They're forcing her. Coin told her if she doesn't do it, she'll stop Prim's treatment and she might never wake up."  
  
She saw him swallow heavily, like the cake had suddenly turned to stone halfway through his throat. He put the plate down on the table. "Yeah, I know," he admitted. "Abernathy told me a couple days ago."  
  
She frowned. Something in the way he said that made her feel so incredibly disappointed in him. "And you approve of that?" she asked him, astounded, because for a second it sounded like he would put the rebellion above Katniss and Prim's well-being, and she couldn't believe that.  
  
He scowled down at her. "No, of course not. Do I want Katniss to be their Mockingjay? No way in hell. But if it's the only way for us to win this thing, then she should do it. She's an adult, she can handle it. If there's a chance her being the Mockingjay might make things better for everybody, she should _want_ do it. For Twelve. For her family. For everybody who has died or suffered because of Snow." He sighed, his breath coming out as a huff because he was suddenly so incensed. That was Gale, Madge surmised: always passionate about the things he believed in.  
  
"I don't want her putting herself at more risk than she already is, but she's our best strategy and all this trouble will be worth it once we're out from under the Capitol's thumb." He shook his head. "But even then, of course I don't want them to involve Prim. She has nothing to do with this; she's not part of this fight."  
  
Madge nodded. "It's not fair."  
  
He shrugged. "That's war, unfortunately. Sometimes you have to do things that aren't fair or aren't right in order for things to become better. Coin knows that." He looked up toward the grey ceiling, pensive. "It's only once it's over that you can see it was all worth it, no matter how bad things got."  
  
Hearing him say such things, Madge wasn't angry anymore— she was just sad. "Do you really believe that? Do you really think Coin using Prim's life as leverage is just 'one of those things' she has to do to win the war?" She shook her head, as well. "If the doctors just give up on Prim because Katniss can't deliver, how are they any better than the Capitol? The rebellion is supposed to allow everybody to be free and in safety. Shouldn't basic health care be available to everyone, then? Why is Prim an exception simply because she's the Mockingjay's sister?"  
  
Now it was _she_ whose impassioned words were almost pouring out of her, breath after breath. Maybe his intensity was rubbing off on her. "Is that the kind of President we want to have when we overthrow Snow? One who uses children to manipulate her subordinates? Doesn't sound like much of a change." She looked at him, only to find him looking back at her, seeming almost stunned by everything she was saying. "How can you willingly follow someone like that?"  
  
"I don't know! You tell me, she's _your_ boss," he retorted, his tone almost defensive. And she knew he had a point. Wasn't she doing the same thing as well, waiting on hand and foot on that very same person she had just been running her mouth off about, just because it allowed her an "in" on information she would otherwise never be privy to?  
  
She didn't know how to reply to that, and she was almost afraid he would call her out on it, accuse her of being a hypocrite, but when she looked into his eyes, she could see he wasn't angry or upset by everything she had just said; instead he seemed shocked, maybe even a bit awed. She had seen him look at her that way before, like he was seeing a completely new side to her he didn't even know existed. " _Damn_ , Undersee."  
  
He sounded so genuinely flabbergasted, she couldn't help but chuckle. "Why do you always seem so surprised that I have an opinion on things?"  
  
"I don't..." he started saying, but then he caught himself halfway through the sentence. He shook his head, looking amused, and gave her a half-smile that made something swoop inside her stomach. "I shouldn't, should I?"  
  
She smiled back at him, and then there was silence for a minute, in which she wasn't sure how to even continue the conversation— should she apologize for her outburst, maybe? Change the topic altogether? Fortunately for her, he cut her internal debate short on his own. "So, how's all of this have anything to do with Rory?" he asked, and only then did Madge remember that she hadn't actually finished telling him the story.  
  
"Oh, well," she started again. "When everything... happened, we all sort of tried to console Katniss, but she only wanted Rory."  
  
"Really? Huh."  
  
Madge could understand Gale's skepticism. As far as she knew, Katniss and Rory got along just fine— he'd been a part of the Everdeen's life just as long as Gale had, after all. But since Rory and Prim started seriously dating, there had been a noticeable tension between them. She wouldn't have pegged Rory to be the first person Katniss would run to at that moment, either. "I think... I think she just needed someone who loves Prim, too."  
  
He frowned. "We all care about Prim."  
  
Madge shook her head. "Yeah, but not like they do." She crossed her arms around her torso, suddenly feeling very cold. "I think maybe she felt he was the only one who could understand how much she was hurting then. They ended up crying in each other's arms for a long time." Her lips formed a small, sad smile. "Don't mention it to Rory, though. I don't think he'd be too happy about you knowing he cried."  
  
She thought that would draw a chuckle out of him, but he was still frowning. She wondered what he was thinking about, if he was worried about Katniss, or Rory, or both, but she didn't ask. It was only after a minute or so of silence that he revealed what was bothering him. "I've never seen Katniss cry," he said, quietly, his eyes fixed on the dark-haired girl on the other side of the room. Madge's followed as well. "Never. Not even when her father died."  
  
Madge nodded, once again feeling sad about all the tragedy her friend had been through in her life. Katniss never had time to grieve properly; she couldn't even do that because she had to be the strong one, she had to be the one to support her family in their times of need. Madge admired her so much for that; if it had been her, she knew she wouldn't have been able to resist that weight on her shoulders. "Well... she's been through a lot, recently," was all she could say, sincerely hoping that things would get better for Katniss soon. She deserved it.  
  
Gale nodded, almost absentmindedly, and then moved to stand up from his seat. "I'm gonna try to talk to her again," he said, and walked off to talk to his best friend with just a movement of his head as a goodbye to Madge. She really hoped he could help Katniss.  
  
As she got up to take her now-empty plate to the washing station, she saw that Katniss wasn't the only one being somewhat unsociable that day. The Hawthorne kids were standing near the table where the cake had been set, animatedly talking with a young boy— the boy who had been the tribute for District Seven, if she remembered correctly. The thirteen-year-old had only sustained minor injuries during the blow-up of the arena, and had been released from the medical bay a few weeks previous. She seemed to recall Vick mentioning that he shared some classes with the boy, so that must be why he was here.  
  
Vick and Posy were in an involved conversation with the boy, gesturing wildly and laughing brilliantly as they talked. She supposed Rory was meant to be included in the conversation as well, but while he was standing there with them, he didn't seem to be paying attention to the chattering of the younger kids. Instead, he seemed to have retracted into himself, arms crossed and his gaze directed at the ground as he leaned against the edge of the table. He looked, she couldn't help but notice, very much like Gale when he was in one of his broody moods.  
  
She approached him carefully. "Hey, birthday boy. You okay?"  
  
He snapped his eyes up, almost surprised that someone was speaking to him, but upon noticing it was her, he gave her a smile that was a little too brilliant to be true. "Yeah, yeah. Sure. Just... not really my thing," he said as an explanation, pointing to the three younger kids, who were enthusiastically talking about kickball, as far as Madge could tell.  
  
She pulled him a little to the side. "Are you sure nothing's wrong? I mean, this is _your_ party, after all, but you don't look like you're having much of a good time... did something happen?"  
  
He started shaking his head, as if beginning to respond with a "nothing" that obviously wasn't nothing, but he must've seen the concern in Madge face because he relented with a sigh. "It's just... you know, the usual. Thinking about Prim." His shoulders slumped. "It's not that I don't appreciate you all doing this for me— I do— but I didn't get to see Prim today and I really wanted to." He explained further before she could ask. "Today... I was going to ask her to marry me, today," he finished, his voice lowering by the end of the sentence.  
  
Madge couldn't help but let out a gasp at the unexpected confession. "Oh, Rory..."  
  
"I mean, we already knew we weren't going to get married until we were both done with school," the young man continued, seemingly feeling like he had to clarify his point. "But I always thought that on my seventeenth birthday, I would ask her. Like, make it official and such. Something to get us through our last few Reapings." He looked down at his feet, a small smile on his lips, but it was a smile that had lost its shine. "I wanted it to be a surprise. I don't think she was expecting it..."  
  
He let out a sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. "I just... Sorry, I'm just feeling weird because I didn't get to see her today, and now visiting hours are over and it's too late."  
  
Madge wanted nothing more than to give him a big hug. She couldn't imagine how anyone, at seventeen, could know what they wanted for the rest of their life. The most she could wish for at that age was to stay alive past her eighteenth birthday. But looking at Rory— he was just a boy, but she didn't doubt for a second he knew exactly what he wanted... and what he wanted, he might yet lose. She knew it wasn't the right time or place to try to comfort him; it wouldn't do to alert everybody else that Rory wasn't enjoying their little get-together. But there was one thing she could do for him. "Come with me," she said, with a side-nod of her head toward the exit.  
  
Rory looked taken aback by her sudden eagerness to leave. "Uh, didn't you _just_ remind me this is my party? I don't think Ma would appreciate it if I just up and disappear on them..."  
  
She just gave him an amused smile and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him into movement. "Just come on."  
  
He kept asking her where they were going until they made it all the way down to the (now closed for visitors) medical bay. When Madge took out her keycard and opened the sliding doors, it became more than obvious what they were doing, and it made him promptly quiet down, expectant. Madge's status as President Coin's assistant gave her security clearance to more than just Command, which was more than other ranking officers could say (Katniss, for example, was given permission to come in and out of the medical bay as she wished, because she was staying with Prim, but she still had to check in every time), and she was glad she could help Rory this way.  
  
They walked into Prim's room and Rory's feet propelled him toward the bed like he was drawn by a magnet. He sat in his usual chair, picking one of Prim's hands between his own and giving it a reverent kiss. "I love you," he started, and it was clear with just those three words that he was pouring his entire heart into this moment. "And I want to marry you. For real. Not just two kids playing house, or two idiot teens thinking 'maybe someday.' I know I want to be with you for the rest of my life."  
  
Madge could see him softly caressing her hand, as he entwined his fingers with hers. "I love you," he repeated. "But you have to..." He cut himself off, drawing in a rapid gasp of breath. "I'm gonna need an answer soon, okay? I mean, you can't leave a guy hanging forever. That wouldn't be nice." He shook his head. "Prim, you have to... you have to open your eyes. You have to come back to us, please..."  
  
His voice caught, the desperation and sadness obvious in his tone, and as he leaned his forehead against their joined hands, Madge felt the urge to look away, knowing that she was intruding in a truly intimate moment that should be just between the two of them. She thought maybe she should step outside and let him have this, but at the same time, she didn't want to leave him alone, in case he needed emotional support. So she stood by the doorway, arms wrapped around herself, trying to give them as much privacy as she could while still being in the room.  
  
He didn't say much more. He simply remained there in silence for a couple of minutes, as if he were hoping Prim's mere proximity was enough to blow a new breath of hope into him. Madge simply waited, discreetly wiping stray tears off her cheeks. She'd been crying a lot lately; they'd had such an emotional couple of weeks.  
  
And then out of the blue, Rory unexpectedly sprung back, dropping Prim's hand and standing up so abruptly that his chair got pushed at least a foot back, with the legs producing a loud screeching sound as they scraped against the floor. Madge immediately grew alarmed. "What happened?"  
  
"She just— she squeezed my hand!" Rory exclaimed as he looked down at Prim's still form in utter disbelief.  
  
"What?" the exclamation shocked her. She rushed closer to the bed, her heart beating a mile per hour. She looked Prim from head to toe, as if to corroborate the claim, but as far as she could see, the girl hadn't moved an inch. "Rory, that can't be. Are you sure you—"  
  
"Yes!" he interrupted her before she could dismiss the incident as a misconstruction. "I didn't just imagine it, okay? I'm telling you: I _felt_ it! Madge," he grabbed her by the shoulders, squeezing in tandem with his words as if emphasizing his point. His eyes were wide and bright with shock, and fear, and excitement, and certainty. "Madge, I think she's waking up. We need to call the doctor—"  
  
The next few minutes were a flurry of activity, with medical personnel rushing around the room to check every machine for a status update and all their family and friends piling into the tiny compartment to wait on baited breath for an explanation for what just happened.  
  
Hopes were high for almost a half hour as the medics worked on Prim, but that all dissipated as most of the medical team filed out and Prim's doctor turned to them with a solemn expression. "I'm afraid there's really no change in her condition. She probably did experience some movement," the woman added when it seemed that Rory was about to interrupt, "but this is not uncommon on coma patients. Depending on their situation on the coma scale, some patients do present some response to outside stimuli. Prim is a 6; it's consistent with her initial diagnosis for her to exhibit small, involuntary movement. It doesn't necessarily mean she's waking up."  
  
"But it's still a good thing, right?" It was Peeta who spoke. "The fact that she _can_ still move. If she's moving now when before she didn't, that must mean she's getting better." Clearly, he had been thinking a lot about this. Madge knew he'd been the first one to talk to the doctor about Prim's condition, right when they first brought her back to Thirteen, so it wasn't surprising he understood the details.  
  
"It may be," the doctor replied sincerely. "We can't be sure. Like I said, these movements might be completely involuntary. We'll have to keep statistically monitoring her motor response to know if there's a trend or a pattern. We've been periodically performing motor tests in preparation, in case the procedure for consciousness induction is approved by her proxy, but—"  
  
"I want you to wake her up." This time it was Katniss who intervened. She'd been staring almost unblinkingly at Prim for the entire time the group had been in the room, saying nothing, and nobody had really been expecting her to speak up at all, but her sudden declaration brought all other chatter to silence. "The procedure to wake her up. I want you to do it."  
  
"If that's your official approval, we can proceed as soon as the preparation is complete and she's deemed stable enough," the doctor let her know. "We already had a tentative schedule for her testing. I will need you to sign the consent form and then everything should proceed as planned."  
  
"I'll get the form to her," Madge immediately offered. She had the required paperwork drafted ages ago, just needed to print and collect Katniss's signature for it to be filed through proper channels.  
  
The doctor nodded at her. "It shouldn't take more than a month," the woman added, for the benefit of everyone who was confused by this "preparation" notion. Then she turned to Katniss again. "I must remind you once more that even if all the tests come back showing a positive trend, there is still a relatively high risk involved. We cannot guarantee the procedure will work, or what consequences will be incurred if it doesn't."  
  
"I understand," she said, but she shook her head as if there was no swaying her decision. Clearly, she had come to some sort of revelation upon hearing Prim could move. "If she's still in there... if she can hear us and respond to us, that means she can still wake up. So we have to try. I can't— I can't let her down. Not if she's trying to come back."  
  
After a few more technical issues were discussed, and everybody present was reassured that the medics were doing all they could for Prim, the group started leaving the room, somehow feeling both deflated and hopeful at the same time, if such a thing was possible.  
  
Katniss took up her usual chair by Prim's bedside. Rory bent down to give Prim a kiss on her forehead before heading out as well, leaving his sister-in-law and his fiancée (because, really, as if Prim would ever turn him down... she had already said yes in the only way she could, as far as Madge was concerned) in the small room, accompanied only by the sound of the machines beeping in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Gale finally stopped being completely uncooperative, which means I finally finished writing chapter 37. Now, prayer circle so that 38 doesn't take me three freaking years to write.  
>   
> Also, I should point out that I wrote this chapter years ago, and therefore Madge's comment about universal health care has nothing whatsoever to do with the debate currently happening in the country that will eventually become Panem. That is all.


End file.
